Secrets of Sin (4 page)

Looking up, Reinier watched Connor touch himself, his broad hands brushing over his belly and lower still. When he reached the fly of his breeches, Connor rubbed the impressive bulge in the garment. Reinier’s lids lowered, and hissing through clenched teeth, he felt his own hardness twitch and strain against his breeches.

Another surge of her slickness bathed his fingers resting in her dewy folds and drew his attention back to her. Parting his fingers suddenly, Reinier spread her core and bent down, buried his face against her, and let his tongue delve and play over her with the exhilarating finesse of an expert, continuing what his fingers had started.

Once more her body heaved off the bed. Once more she moaned and Reinier burrowed deeper, tasting her, and swirled and toyed with the exact spot that made her writhe and shudder under his touch.

But just like before, he halted. And just like before, release did not find her.

Reinier moved off the bed to crouch between her spread legs. His eyes traveled slowly over her glistening core and the moment he saw, he understood. So, this was her secret. It all made sense now, her shyness, her lack of experience. But the bed was moving; Connor was getting up and stalking toward him.

Quickly, Reinier covered her moistness with the flat of his hand, disguising the protective gesture with a rolling movement against her. Her breaths came in sighs. Her lids fluttered close. She wanted it. Every fiber of her body screamed for it. So, Reinier kept silent. He stored her secret for later, though.

The gentle, exquisite pressure against all of her center had her hips meet his hand with a steady rhythm. Connor crouched down behind him. He pressed close, fondling the soft tissue of the scar on Reinier’s back. Longing streaked through his body. When he turned his head, their eyes met. Leaning forward, Connor’s arm came around Reinier.

“Let me have a taste. She smells so sweet,” Reinier heard Connor whisper. Parting his fingers, Reinier exposed only her sensitized bud for Connor’s kiss.

His body pressed fully against Reinier’s as his tongue flicked over her for a quick sample. Then the Irishman’s dark head bent and his mouth closed entirely over her most ticklish spot. Connor licked and swirled his tongue over her, light and fast, until she squirmed on the bed and moaned helplessly. His tongue was pleasuring her, taking her higher and higher. Suddenly, her arms snaked up and her hands fisted in Connor’s hair.

“Please,” she sobbed, begged.

Reinier smiled when he heard Connor’s muffled chuckle. One last flick of his tongue and Reinier saw the coil that had been nourished spring free. Her body was shaken with tremors, tiny, violent quakes of ecstasy. Connor continued his sweet, gentle caresses, lapping at her with the flat of his tongue until her body stopped trembling with the force of her climax.

Connor drew back and left Reinier also to crawl up the bed to her side. Elbow braced against the mattress, the Irishman’s gaze settled on her passion-flushed face while he cupped her breast and squeezed it gently, pressing a fleeting kiss to her earlobe. Reinier came to lie on her other side just as Connor’s arm came around her limp body and her eyes fluttered open.

Reinier saw the light of understanding in her eyes. She had been told to give, but now she comprehended that she was supposed to take pleasure in return.

Tentatively, she brought her hands up and placed them on Connor’s sculpted upper body. Gooseflesh rose where her hands explored, and the Irishman closed his eyes lazily. Seemingly emboldened by his reaction to her touch, her fingers, although hesitant, ran over the prominent bulge in Connor’s breeches.

Reinier let his head rest over hers to watch her progress. He pressed his front into her back, and instinctually her body started moving against him. Reaching down, Reinier entwined her fingers with his to help her unbutton Connor’s fly, and as soon as it was open far enough, he guided her in.

Connor hissed when Reinier wrapped her small hand around his hardness. His own hand grasped her wrist and he showed her how to stroke him. Down he guided her, then up.

His tongue flicked over the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe, his breath cooling the wet trail just a little. “Slowly,” Reinier breathed into her ear. “But hard, lass. Squeeze the tip just a little before you let your hand slide back down again.” Hearing Connor’s deep, throaty purr sent a yearning quiver through Reinier. He moved against her more, his own hardness riding the cleft of her cheeks.

She answered them both with a soft moan. While her hand on Connor became bolder, her body moved, rubbing against them like a lazy cat at first, but soon her motions became more urgent, faster.

Receiving their attention only for the moment, Connor wrapped his arm around both their heads and Reinier grabbed her free hand. He entwined her fingers with Connor’s and sat up, guiding them to her mouth. She needed a little encouragement, though, so he pressed their fingers against her lower lip until she parted her lips to welcome them.

“Yes, sweet. Take his fingers into your mouth. Let them go a little, then suck at them again.”

She did as he had instructed her; quickly, Reinier laid her on her back and nudged her thighs apart while she continued to suckle Connor’s digits. Braced on his arms, he settled between her legs, pushing his cock, still painfully confined in his breeches, against her creamy core. Then he leaned down, his tongue flicking over her earlobe. “Now let your tongue run around his fingertips every time they almost slip from your lips.”

He saw she obeyed; her throat jumped as she rolled her tongue, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked Connor’s fingers deeper into her mouth.

Reinier’s breathing was coming hard. Her honey soaked his breeches, cooling his hot flesh for just a tiny moment. “Very good,” he encouraged her, well aware that his voice was hoarse with hunger.

He wanted more. Now. It was high time they got to the heart of the matter. Rolling off her, Reinier shed his breeches, then crawled a little farther up the bed to lie on his side.

He cupped the back of her head. “Wrap your hand around me and stroke me.”

She let go of Connor and turned to her side to face Reinier. She was studying him closely now, and Reinier had to press his lips together not to chortle at the mixture of fascination and bewilderment on her face. Tentatively, her hand wrapped around him. Immediate, sizzling lust shook his body at her touch.

Reinier noticed the bed move under him. Connor must be getting rid of his breeches also, he thought, and when he looked down, he saw Connor’s arm come around her waist, his dark head bent over hers.

“Use your mouth on him,” Reinier heard Connor instruct her.

Another surge of quivering sparks, both hot and cold, washed over him as he heard the Irishman’s sensual command. Lifting her chin, she met Reinier’s gaze and hesitated. Her eyes flicked from his cock to his face and back. Timidly, she bent and opened her mouth. Reinier’s blood was pumping harder, every inch of his skin alive and burning for more. Her tongue snaked out to lick over his tip. At that, a shiver ran through him.

Her lips explored him, the taste, the feel of him. Reinier’s hips bucked on their own accord, his flesh straining to be engulfed by her, feeling that hot, wet mouth surround him, taking him in…

Finally, she wrapped her lips around him, wiggling them a little to accommodate his width. With a pleased sigh, Reinier closed his eyes and bent his head back. The world ceased to exist. He breathed joy. He tasted lust. He felt longing. He saw flickers of desire dance merrily before his eyes.

Then he felt her hand on his rod too. Connor must have guided her there. As if from far away he heard him rumble, “Let your lips follow your hand.”

After a few tries she found the right rhythm.

“Open your throat. Don’t swallow. You can take him even deeper then.” Reinier had to suppress a moan. When she did as Connor had instructed her, the sensation became scalding. The suction was harder as well. Just the way he liked it.

Soon she was teasing him and Reinier’s body was shocked with electrifying sizzles from head to toes. She was sucking him hard just before her mouth would slide loosely over him. Reinier arched to her caress with a gasp of pleasure.

“Methinks we have just discovered her major talent, my friend.”

“I expected as much,” Connor chuckled hoarsely, the amusement in his voice clearly drenched with lust. “Her skill must be outstanding, having been blessed with lips as gorgeous as hers.”

Reinier felt light-headed, as if he were floating. His laugh became darker and ended in a blissful sigh. Bringing his head forward, he watched Connor spreading her legs again. He tested her readiness, and when she moaned against Reinier, the vibration echoed in his body and made him close his eyes briefly at the pleasant shudder running through him yet again.

They shifted. Connor was kneeling, arranging her shoulder-down and bottom-up while she continued her ministrations on Reinier, who lay down farther onto his back, all the while observing Connor position himself behind her. He’d never tire of watching the Irishman at that.

Connor’s hands clamped around her waist. Then his hips rolled forward with what seemed like agonizing slowness. He stuffed her inch by inch. He must have been halfway in when she released Reinier and threw her head back with a gasp that soon turned into a moan.

Reinier urged her head back down onto him, his gaze settling back on Connor, who was smiling dreamily with his lids lowered. Connor always savored that moment. His eyes slid closed completely and the expression on his face soon relaxed entirely. He parted his lips slightly at the soft shiver shaking his body. Reinier knew then that Connor was seated deep in her, almost up to the hilt.

Her pace on Reinier changed, settling into the rhythm Connor dictated. His thrusts were slow at first. Connor pulled out again almost completely, only to push back into her, but still he was taking his time with it. Momentarily, his thrusts deepened, and so did her eager mouth on Reinier.

Their dance was faster now, more urgent. The primal rhythm was taking over. She trembled and whimpered each time Connor thrust into her, shuddered and sighed when he moved his hips back.

Her moans scorched through Reinier’s veins. Fiery, voluptuous embers showered him. Feeling her mouth around him echoing Connor’s slide in and out of her was almost too much. His whole body stiffened with his impending climax.

Stop. Reinier needed her to stop. Now. Let them finish, he thought; he’d have his turn later.

His hands clamped around her head to keep her from moving. The desire lashing through him protested, but eventually his iron will won over. Reinier hissed with both relief and anguish when her lips freed him.

Reinier kept his eyes closed, reveling in the soft glow of passion not quite gratified. The bed was gently rocking beneath him. With those movements he could feel Connor easing his thick shaft out of her hot moistness and gliding back in. She moaned every time he filled her, sighed each time he pulled out. The rocking quickened. Connor’s strokes must have become more intense.

Connor was close.

The thought swirled in Reinier’s mind, a vague idea at first, rolling, rocking like the bed under him.

Just in time, Reinier opened his eyes to see Connor’s body trembling with his climax. He cupped his flesh and spilled his seed over the small of her back, his hips moving slightly still while he squeezed himself until he was spent. His eyes remained closed the whole time, his lips slightly parted. When he opened them again, they were dark, dilated, contented, as was the smile he gave Reinier just before he fell to the side with a sigh.

Now it was his turn, or at least Reinier thought it would be. Their union could have freed Connor of that recent possessiveness, or it could have enforced it. But there was only one way to find out.

Reinier came to kneel behind her, the satiny skin of her legs tickling against the tiny hairs on his hard thighs. He rubbed Connor’s quickly drying seed into the skin of her back and down her thighs, while his other hand was bathing in her juices. Reinier was drawing her moistness up her cleft to make sure he wouldn’t hurt her when his exploring finger entered her where she would surely least expect it. If his suspicions about Connor were correct, he—unfortunately—wouldn’t get anything beyond his hand near her tight bud.

“What—” She jumped and gasped at the intrusion at first, but as soon as Reinier started his arousing game there, moving very slowly in and out, she relaxed immediately with a deep, breathy moan.

At that Connor’s eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly, placing his hand on Reinier’s stomach to bar him from moving any more.

“No.” Connor’s growl was impressive. Poor Irish bastard, the siren’s call had him now.

Reinier lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Connor didn’t reply. He only shook his head. Reinier had to avert his gaze to hide the telltale glitter of understanding in his eyes.

How sweet. Connor felt territorial. But it was a shame, really. The world would certainly mourn the loss of a glorious rake such as Connor.

“I see,” Reinier gasped a little exaggerated and somewhat disappointed, but he wasn’t bothering to hide the triumphant, meaningful smile he felt. “Seeing that she is out of the question, I might have to find someone else for it, though,” he whispered, leaning closer, so close to Connor that their lips almost met.

Reinier had expected anything but Connor’s surprising response, a sly curling of his lips into much the same enigmatic smile he himself had felt on his own face mere moments ago.

“You are charmingly incorrigible.” Connor smirked. “Go ahead and tease me now. But you’ll see. You’ll soon see, my friend.”

Now it was Reinier’s turn to look—and feel—quite perplexed.

“M
istress!”

Emiline was stopped by Justine’s breathless, distressed squeal as soon as she entered the house. Hands in her apron, the lady’s maid who had been on Bougainvilla since Emiline’s childhood seemed quite agitated. Her eyes were unnaturally wide, as was her mouth.

With a sad smile, Emiline remembered when she had last seen Justine like this. It was when one of the downstairs maids had broken several saucers of her mother’s most precious china.

Emiline cut the maid off with a simple, weary shake of her head and continued toward the stairs up to her room. “Justine, whatever has you flustered like this, whether it’s another piece of the china or something similarly dramatic, please stop. I’m too tired and I long for a bath.”

Justine clapped her mouth shut. Then her forehead wrinkled. “But…”

Once more Emiline shook her head and handed the maid her old hat and worn leather gloves. Justine could wait. It had been another exhausting day in the fields. A long, hot bath would ease the ache in her back a little and the stiffness in her muscles too. Besides, it was part of her daily routine. After a day in the fields, she’d relax in steaming water; then she’d have tea in the parlor and read a little or brood over the ledgers in the study until it was time for dinner.

When she entered her chamber, Emiline leaned against the door, closing her eyes with a sigh. She felt so tired. The people of Ronde all worked hard for her and she worked with them. There was no day off for the Mistress of Bougainvilla.

When her father had died, Emiline had to learn to take a man’s role, to take on all the responsibilities the trade required without complaint—and she had. She’d made Bougainvilla the most profitable sugarcane estate in the West Indies.

She pushed off the door and began to open the laces of her plain linen dress that was mended in too many places and now dirty from the fields. Emiline made her way to the bathtub in the adjoining room and let herself sink into the hot water.

Having scrubbed herself clean until the water was white from the soap, Emiline allowed herself to linger a little longer. She leaned back, feeling the soreness in her muscles ease.

The scent of bougainvilleas wafted to her through the open windows. That’s where the name of the estate came from. They’d been her mother’s favorite flowers, and the villa was surrounded by them.

The estate and the tiny island were Emiline’s whole world, and she ruled it. She had to. There was no one else to do it for her.

Sometimes she felt very alone. But that was ridiculous really. She had a busy life. There was nothing she lacked, and she was a very successful businesswoman. There was no need, she told herself, for a family.

Once she’d thought herself in love. Once was enough to teach her. That love had been so fierce and all-encompassing, it burnt her. Oh, it had definitely been enough.

The ever-present, soft breeze from the sea through the windows reminded her that the water had turned cool already, so she stepped out of the bathtub and grabbed a towel.

While rubbing herself dry, she was thinking about the parlor. She’d have tea there, as usual. Sometimes, when she was sitting in the parlor, she caught herself still looking out the window there. It had a wonderful view of the little harbor of Ronde.

Some days there’d be ships there. Ships waiting to purchase a load of the finest sugarcane or rum the Caribbean had to offer.

For a long time she’d searched the harbor for the one ship that would bring her beloved home. After a while, her tears had tasted bitter and stung her cheeks as she watched for the ship that might carry her husband back to her. He’d never returned, and eventually there were no more tears left. That fountain dried and her heart shriveled with it.

He didn’t want her and she wasn’t looking for him any longer. And that was just as well.

Still, the annoying habit of looking out of the window in the parlor when she was having tea remained. And still she chided herself for it.

But Emiline would be in control of even that eventually. She controlled every other aspect of her life now. She’d master this too. Only one little obstacle remained in the way of her absolute independence. But that was well in hand and would be taken care of. His whereabouts would be known soon, and the papers would be delivered to him.

Elated by that thought, Emiline went to her wardrobe and chose a simple beige linen afternoon dress to wear for tea. She mustn’t forget to take one of her new books with her, she thought and snatched it from her bedside table before she closed the door behind her. Blessed solitude and tea were waiting in the parlor for her.

Reinier was annoyed. Simply being here irked him immensely. It was bad enough that he’d had to interrupt his very pleasurable life to come here and bring his wife to heel, but waiting this long for her to finally grace him with her presence was enormously irritating.

He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch furiously. He should have known, though. She was probably up in her room making herself look pretty. She shouldn’t flatter herself. He was over that animalistic affection he’d felt years ago. Besides, he hadn’t come here to stay, and he surely hadn’t come here to take care of her loneliness. He was not going to be intimate with her, so there was no need for her to try and impress him.

Reinier had only come to tell Emiline what he expected of her, and he assumed that she’d meekly accept it. Once he’d saved his reputation, he would leave again as quickly as he’d come. Maybe even with the evening tide. He had a shipping business to run and quite a few other pleasurable things to get back to, after all.

The tiny island only felt confining. Especially this parlor he was in now while waiting for his spoiled wife to arrive. Even though he was standing by the window and looking out at the sea, he felt as if his hands and feet were shackled and he was chained to a wall. He longed to be out there, experiencing the salty breeze of freedom on his face.

He remembered that stifling feeling only too well—his past. Sometimes he thought it might still suffocate him, throttle him, and immobilize him. Like he’d felt when…

The nervous clatter of teacups on delicate saucers interrupted his somber memories, and out of the corner of his eye, Reinier could see a maid setting the table for tea. She was struggling not to look directly at him.

His lips twitched. Yes, he was here again, but he’d soon be gone—with the evening tide for sure.

Reinier heard the maid leave as unobtrusively as she had entered. By her quick footsteps, she seemed eager to exit the room. Why? Was it because his wife would soon be here? He really hoped so, because the evening tide waited for no one.

He heard footsteps again, slower this time. The doorknob turned and the door squeaked. Then suddenly there was complete silence, as if time stood still for that very moment.

But the enchantment fled as unexpectedly as it had come when something fell to the floor and there was a sharp intake of breath. Reinier turned around and met the aquamarine blue depths of Emiline’s stunning eyes.

By God.

He’d forgotten how stunningly beautiful she was. His gaze traveled over her appearance. No, she was not simply stunning, she took his breath away. Still.

Gone were the round, youthful cheeks she’d had five years ago, gone to be replaced by sharp features, a little hollow now, but amazingly it emphasized her strong cheekbones. Her arms weren’t as soft looking as they used to be either. They were leaner, muscled.

But, he thought and his face lit up, her ample curves were still all there. He’d always adored her soft curves. They fit to his body perfectly.

And her skin, how could he forget that fascinating bronze color that came from the perfect mix of her father’s dark Afro-Indian coloring and her mother’s pale French complexion.

Seemingly frozen in place as she stood in the door, Emiline’s full rose petal lips were slightly ajar. Goodness, he still remembered what it was like to kiss them, how gentle they were, supple, trembling under his shortly before she’d melt in his arms and arch her body into his. And they tasted like sweet strawberries, seductive, yet innocent.

Perfect.

It’s what he’d thought when he’d first seen her as well. She was perfect. Flawless perfection come to life.

Reinier had forgotten how much he’d wanted her. How much he still wanted her now that he saw her again after such a long time. It all felt so new, yet it wasn’t. Still, it was exciting. Still, she was enticing. Simply seeing her again had his heart pumping heavily in his chest. And something else farther down as well.

He’d always felt physically attracted to her—almost to the point of madness. Yes, he’d always thought he’d go insane if he couldn’t have her.

Time and distance hadn’t lessened her appeal like he’d hoped it would.

She wore a simple linen dress, but nothing looked just plain on her. Whatever she wore, she looked like an angel, especially now that she had her hair down, her still-wet, wild curls fell down her back. He knew they smelt like strawberries as well. Small wood strawberries, like the ones he’d gathered when he was a boy back home.

Reinier also remembered how silken her hair felt on his skin. He’d drape it over him in the night, and lose himself in her utter femininity and mild, soothing fragrance.

The evening tide was almost gone. Almost.

So, while he was here, he might as well renew his memories; he might as well enjoy her soft, pliant body against his. It would be only natural. He was her husband and…

Suddenly remembering why he was here, a cool jolt of reality drew him out of his pleasant musings.

He was not just her husband. She’d made him a cuckold as well. He’d had a purpose coming here, after all.

Upon entering the parlor, Emiline thought she saw a ghost, an evil ghost from her past that had come to unmercifully haunt her. But Reinier was real and standing there in her parlor by the window with his back to her. When he turned around, she thought her heart had stopped beating altogether.

Now he was moving, gracefully, with a certain swing to his every movement, like the predator she thought him to be. Reinier was coming up to her and she knew she should run, should do something, anything but just foolishly stand there, paralyzed by his presence, mesmerized by how he looked at her.

He bowed to her and Emiline blinked. What was he doing? Was he formally…? Emiline gasped as she saw him lifting the book she hadn’t noticed had slipped from her fingers. Absentmindedly, she took it from him and clutched it to her chest, held on to it as if she needed something that felt solid, real.

Nonsense, she chided herself. She needed a shield.

What was he suddenly doing here? Why was he back in her life now?

“Emiline.”

She had to repress the warm, gentle shiver that snaked through her when she heard Reinier’s voice again after such a long time. It was deep and there was still that certain kind of husky mystery in it. Oh, how she’d missed it, how she’d missed hearing him speak, hearing him say her name. He always laid special emphasis on the last syllable, gave it a particular sensual quality that made her skin crawl with delectable memories of how he used to caress her cheek after he’d made love to her and he’d say her name in almost a whisper….

Good Lord.

Emiline had expected anything but this. She’d never again take Justine’s distress lightly. If only she’d listened.

Now not only did she see his eyes wandering up and down her body, she also felt them as they whispered over her. She almost trembled with the sensation that he knew exactly what was underneath her dress.

Her treacherous body instantly started to heat up. When she saw the left corner of his ever-smiling lips move upward, she was so stunned that all she could think was how could she have forgotten how breathtakingly handsome Reinier was.

Yes, his lips were so full that he always seemed to smile, and they made him look soft and sweet. She knew what he was thinking by the way his eyes, his still amazing bright citrus eyes, began to glitter.

She still felt like a rabbit staring at a cougar that had suddenly pounced out of the bushes, just like she had all those years ago when she’d first seen his intense gaze taking her in. All she could do was blink once and swallow hard.

Once more she was mesmerized by his fair beauty. He wasn’t just the most handsome man she’d ever met in her life. Now she remembered why she’d fallen so easily back then. He had a way of making one willingly do almost anything just to hear him say their name, experience his lips against their own, his hands on their body, his body against theirs, his hair tickling their neck and other places the mere thought of which made her blush.

Damn him.

His smile was triumphant even now, because he knew how she felt when he merely looked at her like that.

And curse him. His skin was a sun-baked tan, and Emiline even caught herself wondering for a moment how far his tan would go. His hair, neatly tamed at the back of his head, had faded to a lighter shade in the sun. Now he had small wrinkles around his eyes. Barely there, but they made his alluring, seductive gaze even wilder than ever. He wore a jacket that was exactly the same shade as the green part of his swirling eyes, and his elegant, golden breeches did little to hide the muscular columns underneath.

The years had added to his good looks. She’d thought him handsome then? Well, he was as beautiful as an angel now. So beautiful she’d weep if she could. But she couldn’t do anything at all. She was too stunned.

She bowed her head and gave him the friendliest smile she could manage. “Reinier.”

When he presented his arm, she took it and let him guide her to the table where their tea was set.

Aloof politeness was the right course, Emiline decided while she was sorting through the chaos in her mind. Maybe he’d be gone by the evening tide. If it wasn’t too late for it already?

Emiline busied herself by filling their cups with tea. She could deal with him. She was a strong woman. She was in charge.

Emiline almost believed herself if it hadn’t been for the tiny voice in her head that snickered evilly that she controlled every aspect of her life—save him. But she had a plan to remedy that as well, didn’t she?