The Scoundrel's Lover (15 page)

The door behind him opened, and through it burst a tiny, colorfully dressed woman who perfectly matched her wild parlor.

“Marcus!” she said, rushing toward him.

“Calliope!” he said as he entered his embrace. “You look wonderful.”

They parted and she waved him at the settee. “Sit, sit. If I’d known you were coming, I would have had some of those biscuits you love.”

Marcus laughed as he settled into his seat. He watched her as she buzzed about with his tea. He had known this woman for half his life. She and her husband had been his saviors. And she was the closest thing to a mother he had.

She handed over his tea and took a seat across from him. “Love, you get more handsome every time I see you. Such a gentleman.”

Marcus looked down at himself. His fine clothes were what she meant. “I’m still a wolf under it all.”

“Nothing wrong with a wolf, love.”

He frowned. “Not when a sheep is required.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Who wants you to be a sheep?”

He set his tea aside and leaned forward, his elbows draped over his knees. He was not one for confidences, but right now he needed council. And Calliope would give it without judgment, but also without sugar coating whatever truth he needed to hear.

“I suppose I am not being asked to be a sheep,” he clarified. “Only wondering if I could be. Knowing I couldn’t.”

“Is this about a woman?” she pressed, sipping her tea even as her gaze stayed focused on his face.

He hesitated and then nodded. “Yes.”

Her smile was his reward. “Wonderful. You really have reached an age where you should stop flitting about, caring only for that club you and your father loved so much.”

Marcus couldn’t help but smile too. His “father”, her late husband Oliver, who had owned the Donville Masquerade when it was nothing more than a rundown set of rooms where gentlemen came to box and game. How much things had changed.

“Do you remember the Flynns?” he asked.

Calliope’s face softened. “’course, I do. They brought you to us, didn’t they?”

Marcus turned his face. “Yes,” he whispered, trying to block out thoughts of his life before Calliope and Ollie. “They have a daughter.”

Calliope laughed. “Well, that seems the perfect match, doesn’t it? A woman raised by wolves, why would
she
ever want a sheep?”

“Because she was raised by wolves,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You must have heard that Raphael Flynn took on this dukedom last year and married a lady of the highest quality.”

Calliope nodded. “Everyone knows that. Though it’s hard to picture that hellion as a proper duke. Not when I remember him almost setting the curtains on fire in one of those clubs as some kind of bet.”

Marcus stifled a chuckle. “His father made him pay for the damage out of his own pocket. I believe he might have had to sweep floors.”

Calliope grinned along with him. “Always liked Reggie Flynn. He was a good one. But are you saying the Flynn daughter—what is her name?”

“Annabelle,” Marcus said, her name like a teaspoon of honey across his tongue.

“That this Annabelle wants to marry someone in her brother’s new world?” Calliope shook her head as if that wish were utterly foolish.

Marcus shrugged. “Can you blame her? She’s spent her life living with the consequences of actions taken by the men in her life. She’s being offered the chance at something stable—why wouldn’t she take it?”

“If the alternative was you?” she scoffed. “Is she daft?”

Marcus laughed. “No, she’s quite brilliant, actually. You would like her if you met her. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. And she wants me, but we both know it can’t last.”

Calliope watched him for a moment. “Why did you come here, Marcus?”

He blinked at the sudden, pointed question. “Am I not welcome?”

“You are welcome every day and twice on Sunday, you know that. I want to see more of you, I miss you.” She tilted her head. “But what do you want me to tell you about this girl?”

“Tell me that it’s impossible and I should walk away. Tell me to think about the business and not have my head in the clouds.”

She took his hand. “Marcus, it’s impossible and you should walk away. Get your head out of the clouds and think of the business.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. His words, repeated back to him just as she’d asked. But they were like a vice around his heart.

“Now, do you want to know what I
really
think?”

He opened his eyes and found her watching him far too intently. “Calliope…”

“I think if that girl is anything like her father or her brothers, she would be bored to tears by some titled fop who never got into any trouble. I think if she is coming to you, she must see in you her true heart and desires. And I think that if
you
need to talk to someone else about your problems that you must care deeply for her. And you should never walk away from that.”

“This does not help me,” he said, smiling at her despite her words.

She didn’t return the smile. “It isn’t what you think you should hear. That’s something different.”

Her hand still covered one of his and he cupped it with his free one. “I do adore you, Mama. You know that.”

Her face brightened. “I love it when you call me that. And I know, lovie.” She pushed to her feet. “Now, will you stay for supper? We can talk more about your girl. Or you can tell me that your man of affairs, Abbot, has been pining for me.”

He laughed as he shook his head. Calliope’s great joke was that she would one day shed her title of widow and marry Abbot. He had a feeling that scared poor Paul to death.

“Of course I’ll stay. Who else will indulge your fantasies? Though if you want to torture Abbot, you should just come to the club more often.”

“I may just do that,” she laughed, linking her arm with his to lead him from the room.

But even as he joined in her laughter, he couldn’t stop his mind from turning to Annabelle. Calliope refused to help him separate himself from her. And now he had a tiny, terrible glimmer of hope that he would have to squash before their next meeting.

Annabelle could hardly breathe as she sat at Marcus’s desk in his office. Did the man not know that when he leaned over her, it stopped her heart? Or was he actually
trying
to kill her?

“You see here, where your membership fees are collected?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t tremble as much as her hands were. He nodded. “By going through some of your records while you were downstairs dealing with…what was it exactly?”

He shrugged. “A fight over a woman.”

Annabelle tensed. “Does that happen here often?”

Marcus shook his head. “Not very often. It is more common for two ‘suitors’ to decide to share a lady rather than duel over her in these halls.”

Annabelle gripped her fist against the desk. Two men, one lady? That sounded incredibly shocking and highly erotic. She wanted to ask him more, perhaps even be shown how such a thing was possible, but instead she bent her head.

“Ah, I see. Well, at any rate, it seems you haven’t changed what you change for membership in a very long time.”

He pressed one hand to the desk, dangerously close to her own, and leaned in. “Not for ten years, since I inherited the place and made the first changes and updates.”

She glanced up. “You inherited the club?”

He continued to stare at the ledger a moment, then slowly looked down at her. Their eyes met and she saw a flicker of pain in the bright green of his stare.

“Yes,” he said softly and explained no more. “I suppose you are correct that in ten years enough has changed that perhaps I should reexamine my fees.”

“One other thing I noticed was that you have some members who do not fall under a lifetime membership and yet they have not paid you their annual fee in several years.”

“They are established members,” he murmured, looking over the list she had compiled. “We press them, but do not expel them.”

“I think you should reconsider,” she said. “I’m certain most, if not all, of these people can more than easily pay your fee. And they cannot bring in so much business that they make up for what they take. They are taking advantage of you.”

She folded her arms and Marcus chuckled. “I did not know I had picked up a champion when we agreed you would review my books.”

Annabelle reached up and removed her reading spectacles, setting them on his desk before she said, “You have obviously worked hard to make this place the success it has become. I simply hate to see you throw away even a farthing’s worth of profit from all you’ve done.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, but then he leaned in even closer, gripping both arms of the chair she sat in before he dragged it away from the desk and turned her to face him. His hands bracketed each chair arm, so she was trapped, caught with only his handsome face to stare into.

And stare she did, her breath hitching as she fell under the spell of his strong jaw, full lips and utterly spectacular eyes.

“Marcus,” she whispered, despite herself.

He smiled. “Do you know how often I’ve thought of you since we last met, Annabelle? How often I’ve thought of having you alone in this space?”

She swallowed. “I hope it is as often as I have thought of you.”

His eyes went wide at that admission before his normally stern mouth turned up in a grin. “You thought of me, Miss Flynn? And what did you think about?”

“Very inappropriate things,” she admitted, feeling the rush of heat to her cheeks.

His smile faltered slightly. “Like what?”

“Like being here alone with you,” she began. “Like feeling your hands and your mouth on me, all over me. I’m afraid those thoughts are a sickness now, I cannot do anything to purge them from my mind.”

“Then would you like to surrender to them?” he whispered.

She nodded. “Yes. Please, yes.”

He said nothing more, but merely grasped her, pulled her out of the chair and into his arms. She couldn’t help herself but surrender. It felt like forever since he’d touched her, despite the fact it had only been a few days. She melted against him. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her face up and up, but he didn’t kiss her. He just
looked
at her.

“Do you know how many women I’ve had, Annabelle?”

She flinched. She didn’t really want to consider that. “Is that an appropriate question to ask your lover?”

He smiled, but it was only a flicker of his earlier grin. “Not at all. There had been many. Not here—
they
are right that you are the first woman I have ever brought to my private rooms, to my business. But I have not been a monk outside of these walls. And yet, despite my experience, when I’m with you…”

He trailed off, and she tensed. “What?”

“It is like the first time I’ve ever seen a woman. Like nothing else ever mattered before.”

She blinked. That was not what she’d expected him to say. And yet, trapped as she was, she couldn’t turn away from the intimate admission. She could only look into his eyes and see that he meant every word. But that couldn’t really be true. Those things he said were too precious and too close to feelings she would not,
could
not allow herself to feel.

“Marcus,” she whispered, shaking her head.

The light in his eyes faded at her indication of the negative, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he moved closer, and suddenly his mouth was on hers, hard and insistent. His hand slid down her back, caressing her spine before he cupped her backside and lifted her against him, grinding the hard ridge of his cock against her thigh.

She shivered at the feel, knowing he was ready and randy for
her
. She couldn’t deny she was the same for him. The moment he had entered the room almost an hour ago, her body had grown wet and she hadn’t stopped tingling. And now he would touch her and he would make those desires fade, at least for a short while.

He maneuvered her through the office, kissing her and fondling her the entire way, until they reached his chamber door. He fumbled to open it, and they nearly fell inside when he finally managed it. Still, he didn’t stop kissing her, but guided her to his bed where he finally stopped and drew away.

“If I could rip that dress off of you, I would,” he drawled, letting his fingertips travel along the bodice of her gown. She shuddered as he crested over her breast, the pad of his thumb stroking her nipple through the fabric.

“Then I’d be naked and trapped here,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Perfect. I’d keep you that way until you’d given me everything.”

He started to unbutton her gown, and she stared at him. “But we can’t share everything,” she reminded him gently. “As much as I would like that.”

He didn’t hesitate in his unfastening and he didn’t look up. “Trust me, Annabelle, I couldn’t forget your rules even if I tried.”

She frowned. There was a strain to his voice when he said that which she didn’t understand. He couldn’t possibly care what she did when she wasn’t here with him. She was a diversion, an attraction he wanted to rid himself of feeling just as she
had
to rid herself of these dark desires in her soul.

Marcus Rivers wasn’t the kind of man to truly care for anyone, she thought, but most especially not a woman like her. He could have opera singers and mistresses and widows who would know exactly how to please him. She was just…Annabelle Flynn, a woman not of his world, nor of the world she was trying to invade at balls and Society gatherings.

His fingers brushed her chin, and she sucked in a breath when she found him focused entirely on her.

“Why such a sad expression?” he asked, his voice low and hypnotic. She found herself wanting to curl into him, to tell him everything she’d ever feared and loved and lost.

Instead she shook her head. “You should know this is difficult for me as well. I take no pleasure in denying you.”

“I-I know that,” he said.

His mouth covered hers again and she sighed in both pleasure and relief. Talking to him was so confusing sometimes, it was better to just touch, tease, pleasure. Those things were separate from the things he made her feel and think and fear.

He opened her dress and pushed it and her chemise aside, baring her from the waist up. She found herself arching her back, giving him better access. He smiled as he pulled away and simply stared at her.

“These beautiful breasts haunt my most wicked dreams,” he purred as he cupped them, pushing them together gently, thumbing her nipples, this time without fabric to stop her from feeling the touch.

She gasped and let her head dip back over her shoulders. He laughed. “So sensitive.” Leaning forward, he licked one hard nipple and she jolted. “Do you feel that all the way in your pussy?”

She jerked her face to look at him. He continued to lick and suck her nipple, but he was watching her.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And are you wet and aching for me?” he asked, again so benign, as if he were asking if she wanted tea.

“Since the moment you came in to the room,” she said, this time through clenched teeth. He was teasing her, testing her. But couldn’t she do the same? “And what about you, Mr. Rivers?”

He sucked her hard and then said, “What about me?”

“I felt how hard you were for me,” she said, blushing at the directness of her words. “Felt your cock press against me. Are you ready to feel my hands stroke you, my mouth suck you?”

He straightened up and tugged the gown off her waist. It fell at her feet. “You are treading in dangerous waters, Annabelle,” he said, his voice sharp. “Because I have been hard for you for far longer than the first moment I saw you tonight. I have been aching for you for days and if you are not careful, you will feel how close I am to losing control.”

“You, lose control?” she taunted, even though his ardor was frightening as much as thrilling. “I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it.”

“Minx,” he spat, then dragged her against him. “If you keep teasing, then you shall see it.”

She met his gaze evenly. The part of her that strove for propriety told her to stop this game with him. To back away. But the darker part of her, the larger part, urged her on. And in that moment, she folded Society Annabelle away and unleashed her true self.

Slowly she eased her hand between their tightly pressed bodies, wiggling between them until she found the ridge of his cock. She stroked him through his trousers, watching as his jaw tensed, his eyes fluttered shut, his breath exhaled gently.

“Annabelle,” he said, but this time his voice was pleading.

“Take off your clothes and let us begin,” she ordered, pushing from his embrace and stepping back to watch him.

He did not deny her, but took his time removing each item. His gaze never left her as he removed his jacket, tugged his shirt from his waistband, slowly unfastened it. Finally he tossed it away and she was the one who lost her breath.

“How are you so well formed?” she murmured, stepping closer to touch him. She flattened her palm against his flesh, reveling in the warmth of his skin against hers, the way his muscles flexed.

“Because I’m not a worthless fop,” he growled.

She winced. He was addressing her desire to
marry
one of those worthless fops. Although right now she couldn’t recall why that had ever seemed like a good idea. Especially when she could have
this
standing in front of her. This specimen of male perfection. This man who, if she told him she would allow it, would claim her and please her until she was weak.

And that would destroy all her dreams.

She blinked and stepped away. She couldn’t allow her dark desires to be her only guide. She had to keep her reason alive in the midst of these pleasures.

He moved his hands to his trousers, his gaze almost challenging as he stripped them open and shrugged out of the fabric.

She caught her breath. He was magnificent. Even better than she had remembered. Every part of him was hard and muscled, from his thighs and backside to the thrusting ridge of his cock which curled against his stomach proudly.

She wanted him. So desperately.