Passion Over Time Read online

  Her hands grew slack on the brush. An achy, congested sort of pressure had already begun to spread through her pelvis. Oh, damn and blast! Damn and blast! It would take forever to fall asleep now. Just last night, she had only fallen asleep as the first pale streaks of sunlight had shone upon her bed.

  And then Charlie had shouted from the next chamber, loudly demanding to know why the pans on the stove were cold and there was no coffee.

  She thrust the brush back into her satchel and hung the bag on the peg. Then she sighed.

  I need sleep. I shall go mad if I don’t get some sleep soon.

  Perhaps she was being too cautious. Her conquest should be all the sweeter for the repetition. She wasn’t a girl now. She could trust herself now. She wouldn’t lose her head or her heart.

  Moreover, what could just one more time with her dark-haired gentleman really hurt? Surely not much more than a pinprick. What grown woman feared risking a pinprick?

  Afterward, she would be able to sleep again undisturbed.

  * * * *

  The next day, slightly bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Beth paused at the entrance to the dining hall at City Tavern. This was her last chance to turn back. But why turn back? She could certainly remain in control of the situation with Mr. Grey Sexton. Wasn’t she in control of herself? Of course she was. Taking a deep breath, she entered, expecting to be tossed out at any moment.

  But what gentleman would have the heart to question a widow wearing her veiled hat? Beth had borrowed the garment from a box in the attic. A little out of fashion but serviceable.

  It was shortly after noon and rumbling male voices and the clatter of cutlery echoed in the large room. One side was divided into partitions, a rabbit’s warren of refined, tobacco-scented male privacy. As she passed their boxes, men craned their heads, doubtlessly curious as to what business a woman could have here.

  She heard his laugh and turned toward the windows. In the farthest corner, Grey sat with two other gentlemen, newspapers spread over their table.

  He glanced up and for a moment, she had a sense of disbelief. He couldn’t be the same gentleman who had made such heated, passionate love to her in his carriage. Oh, he possessed the same midnight-black hair and hard-boned handsomeness, but this man was a stranger.

  A laughing stranger with a ruthless set to his jaw and eyes cold as agates.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. What was she doing here?

  He focused on her with hawk-like intensity and she sucked in her breath. Apprehension tingled in her belly and the sensation radiated through her body out to her fingers and toes.

  His companions stopped talking, their gazes followed his. The one to his right was a short, dark-haired man with an overripe red mouth and obsidian eyes. To his left was an older man, tall and spare with thin lips and a beak-like nose.

  The two other men couldn’t possibly see her face through the widow’s veil she wore, but even so, their cold, hard stares bored into her. Nothing like the tame, pampered gentlemen she knew from working at Mrs. Bickle’s Inn, their power seemed to pulsate in the air. A cold power used to having its wants immediately assuaged. A power jaded with itself, empty and hungry for anything novel to fill it up.

  A sensation like a blizzard of frozen mosquitoes descending upon her, their icy legs skittering over her scalp, prickling and biting their way down her back, crawled over her. Her heart pounded her ribcage and she turned and fled.

  In the corridor, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes then hugged herself and shuddered all over. She’d read those two other men’s thoughts in their eyes. They had the means to buy and sell human lives. The capacity to suck one’s soul dry and take pleasure in it.

  Was Grey like them? Had she made a terrible mistake? What was she doing here? Cold sweat and nausea threatened to overtake her and she forced herself to draw deep, slow breaths.

  You are being silly. They are as mortal as you.

  But no one had ever looked at her like that. As if she were a slave on the block. Run, just run and forget this insanity.

  With her eyes on the stairs, she picked up her skirts—too late. The sound of boots echoed on the hardwood floor. Her heartbeat galloped away from her. Oh, she was a damned fool. Tricked by lust into thinking this was safe. Snared in her passions like a senseless hare. Yet pride demanded she stand to face him, not flee like some silly girl.

  Anyhow, it was her decision to be here. She was in control. That was what mattered most.

  The boot falls stopped and her mouth dried. A tingling rush swept through her stomach, but whether it was of anxiety or anticipation, she didn’t know. She turned and saw the tall, dark shadow looming over her.

  Chapter Three

  Cool air passed over Beth’s sweat-dampened face as her black widow’s veil was lifted away, leaving a delicious sort of weakness in its wake. Sexton’s eyes shone luminous silver, reflecting the starlight of her dreams and taking her breath.

  His shaving soap—a nuanced blend of citrus and spice with an underlying note of musk, mingled with crisp, fresh linen—evoked a sense of solace, as if she’d been living for nothing else since they’d parted.

  He exuded wealth and power. His cravat glowed, blinding white against the dark blue of his jacket, so stiffly starched, so perfectly tied it appeared carved from marble. The thrust of his clean-shaven jaw seemed almost ruthlessly arrogant.

  “Thank God it’s you, else I expect I’d have my face soundly slapped by now.” His deep voice resonated in her belly.

  Neither of them laughed. The tension, sharp as a knife’s tip held to her throat, rendered her speechless.

  “I am sorry they directed you to the dining hall. Most indelicate. Someone should have come and fetched me instead.”

  Inwardly, she shuddered at the memory of so many curious male eyes upon her. “It’s no matter now.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his tone front-parlor polite.

  “No.” She couldn’t possibly eat. She’d been pent up with desire like a caged cat for two weeks. Now, so close to being beneath him again, she could barely keep herself from swooning from the excitement.

  “You know, for a moment there, I thought you were about to bolt.”

  “No, never.”

  “That’s a relief.” He laughed without smiling and pressed something into her hand, a key. He whispered his room number. “Go up. I’ll follow shortly.”

  “I haven’t much time.”

  “Very shortly.” Did she imagine the edgy promise in his voice? Desire twisted through her belly. Her knees melted to jelly and she wobbled.

  “Careful.” His strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her, his face reflecting none of the emotion pounding through her body.

  How could he remain so unaffected?

  Impulse seized her and she caught hold of his lapels. “Kiss me.”

  He leaned closer and her heart’s beat dashed away from her. Heavens, anyone could come along and catch them. Oh, the risk… But lust made Beth brave. The risk only heightened the thrill. Her breath quickened and her nipples stiffened, straining against her stays. She closed her eyes, tilted her head up. Waited.

  And waited.

  “How many men since me?” He laid his large hand at the base of her throat and a thrill went chasing through her. “Look me in the eye.”

  Her lids fluttered open and his gaze pierced into her with such intensity, she gasped. “It has only been two weeks.”

  “Answer me, Beth.”

  Another thrill trembled through her. Fear or anticipation? She couldn’t say. “None.”

  Still holding her throat, he studied her for several long moments. She set her jaw, refusing to waver under his scrutiny.

  He bent and his mouth pressed hers, hard and hasty. Passion spiraled, took her soaring to the stars. Lassitude weakened her and wetness seeped between her legs. He lifted his head. Her hands tightened on his lapels, trying to pull him back. He resisted, his eyes trained on her like a stag with a do
e.

  Kiss me. Just kiss me, you arrogant jackanapes.

  “Now go.” He released her, set her veil back in place and left her there.

  She stared at his departing back.

  Did he have any idea what a rarefied class he found himself in? She didn’t go around asking just any man to kiss her. She had very high standards and she shared herself with only a select few. She was bestowing quite an honor on him and yet he reacted as if she were the one who ought to be grateful. And to add insult to injury, he hadn’t even kissed her. Not truly.

  Yet, despite the seething vexation he inspired in her, wetness slid down along the insides of her thighs. She could hardly wait to get upstairs and be alone with him again. To lie in his bed and have his weight press her down and his huge, hard cock thrust into her. Filling her, stretching her to her limits, just as he had that day in the carriage.

  Heat swept over her and she realized she was shaking with excitement. Oh, this wasn’t good. Or safe. Or sane. Her mouth went dry. She ought to leave, right this minute. But she couldn’t seem to find the will.

  Dear God, it frightened her how much she wanted him.

  * * * *

  Grey reached for the doorknob, then gripped it and attempted to slow his breathing. But he couldn’t slow the near-frantic pounding of his heart. Nor could he control the throbbing in his erection. It actually ached, as though that organ were being stretched to its very limits with each surge of fresh, hot blood. God, the sight of her when he had lifted her veil—

  She was every damned bit as beautiful as he’d remembered. And then a little more.

  Large, pale blue eyes that flashed with pure recklessness.

  Kiss me.

  That challenge in her voice…as though he, Grey Sexton—a gentleman respected internationally for his discretion and good judgment, possessed of two elegant, experienced mistresses—would risk being caught mauling a young lady in a public corridor like some desperate adolescent.

  And the way she’d grasped his lapels. So aggressive, so brusque. Women, even of his own class, were usually intimidated by his wealth, his stature in Society. Since he’d reached his majority, no woman had ever dared just lay her hands on him like that. God, this girl was so impetuous, so audacious.

  Soon, he would have her beneath himself, pleading, begging…

  A jolt of lust pulsed through his erection, making it swell painfully against his pantaloons.

  “Oh, Christ.” The word was a whispered, harsh groan as he tightened his hand on the door. She was just a slip of a girl. Economically disadvantaged. Likely uneducated. Definitely unsophisticated. She also the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Anywhere in the world. And she was waiting on the other side.

  Waiting for him alone.

  A typhoon rush of elation swept through him. It left him dizzy in its wake.

  Dizzy? Damn it all, he needed to get control over himself. He forced himself to take several additional slow, deep breaths.

  No matter how much he wanted to, he wasn’t going to pounce on the woman and carry her to bed. Instead, over champagne they would discuss their relationship. Define it. So they knew where they stood. Because two weeks of indefinite waiting was intolerable. He was prepared to make her terms no sane woman could refuse. And she seemed sane.

  Once defined, their liaison would start as he intended to continue with her, no different than with any of his mistresses. There would be no room left for emotionalism. No distasteful power struggles or disappointments.

  He entered and locked the door. Soft footfalls sounded on the polished footboards. He turned to see her running towards him. She was completely naked.

  The vixen.

  She flung herself up at him. On instinct, he caught her, reeling backwards a little. While he struggled to stay on balance, her hands latched onto his shoulders, her legs wrapped about his waist and gripped tight. He braced her bare, satiny bottom.

  His heart hammered his chest, for as welcomes went, it was staggering. Her mouth found his, her tongue flirting along his lips.

  “Damn.” He half groaned against her lips. Kissing her deeply, with one eye open, he bore her to the bed. Bright light flashed through the gossamer white curtains, illuminating her porcelain skin against the dark-blue velvet bedspread. She rolled on her back, all pink-tipped breasts, flat youthful belly, and luscious long legs.

  Thunder rumbled as he stretched over her. Fitting his hand to the curve of her waist, he bent. Her pulse beat a tattoo against his lips, her skin like smooth cream on his tongue, her scent all tangy and sweet like the exotic fruits he had enjoyed so well in the Orient. Slowly he kissed his way from her neck down to the soft swell of her breasts. Capturing a hardened nipple between his lips, he ran the tip of his tongue over it gently.

  She shivered and moaned, arching her back, pressing up and clutching his head. Her soft, plump mons pressed his erection. Every male instinct screamed for him to wrench his pantaloons open and thrust into her immediately.

  Lightning flashed, followed by an immediate loud boom. He raised his head, focusing glassily. This was going too quickly. Her artless honesty was a refreshing departure from Marie’s lace and silk calculation and Kate’s cool sophistication, he shouldn’t let his instincts rule.

  He rolled away and got up to peel off his coat. Then he took out his cotton banyan for her to wear. So they could talk.

  When he turned back to the bed, she lay with one hand caressing a breast, one hand between her legs, a finger stroking her nub. He sucked in his breath, his balls tightening.

  She moaned and his eyes flicked to her face. Her body writhed, the speed of her stroking, circling finger increased and her every hitching breath reverberated in his cock. His heart pounded so hard, it seemed to be trying to squeeze the very life out of itself.

  Good God. A long-held fantasy brought to writhing, moaning life.

  It defied everything he thought he knew about women.

  Ladies would never do it. Mistresses might, if they were in a good humor—but in a practiced way, every move showing that they were play-acting.

  This was no performance. This was woman in her most sensual, intimate abandon.

  He approached the bed and stretched out alongside her. “Do you want it that much, Beth?”

  Her eyes glittered with stunning desire. “Can’t wait…please don’t make me wait.”

  “Christ.” His hand raced up her thigh as though guided by a force beyond himself. Her hand fell away as he reached the softness of her outer lips. Luscious lubrication seemed to be flowing over her inner folds. She was hot, impossibly wet. Irresistible.

  He slipped two fingers inside. Her mouth fell open and she uttered a high-pitched squeak. The sweetest sound to ever ring in his ears. He held her gaze, drowning in her blue depths as he carefully explored her forward wall, feeling along the slick velvet ridges until he reached that little swell. He pressed gently but firmly.

  Her eyes widened. She sucked in her breath loudly, and her whole body went rigid.

  “There, my darling?” He pressed again, firmer this time.

  “G-god.”

  His palm flat against her nether lips, his fingers stroked deeply.

  On a moan, she lay back and closed her eyes. Those honeyed walls hugged his fingers and she flattened her palms on the bed, pressing down. Her hips thrashed as moans tore from her throat, growing more and more strident with each passing moment.

  She moved so frantically, it was hard to stay on target. But his thumb circled her erect nub while his fingers moved inside her with steady firm motions.

  “You’re…a…”

  He redoubled his efforts.

  “Oh, God!” She caught her breath with a hitching note. Her body began to tremble, “God—”

  Her inner walls squeezed his fingers in frantic spasms and her body jerked off the bed. Her wetness drenched his hand. She screamed. His mouth came over hers, a moment too late. Her pleasure resounded in the chamber, still echoing in his ears as
he lifted his mouth.

  They’d be lucky if someone didn’t call the watch.

  Cool, rain-scented air billowed the curtains and rushed in. Beth lay panting, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, a rosy flush fading from her breasts. Sweat-glistened gooseflesh rose and her nipples were tight raspberry points. He bent and tasted of their salty sweetness. The scent of her arousal permeated his nostrils, the most tantalizing perfume. No woman smelled like her. So carnal, so feminine, so—A pang of lust throbbed in his cock, making it so hard the skin felt stretched, painful. Christ, he had to feel her delectable little body beneath his. Now. A crash of thunder brought him to his senses.

  Damn it, this wasn’t the way to take charge of the situation. He went and closed the window. Then he returned to her and laid a soft flannel blanket over her nakedness. His cock throbbed in aching protest. He ignored it.

  He rested his hand over her belly. Christ, it was so flat, so firm; he’d wagered he could bounce a coin off it. He caressed her, lingering over her satiny flesh. He imagined the slight, soft roundness her stomach would show in few years. The more womanly curves she would possess after she had borne a child or two.

  That would certainly be a gorgeous sight to see.

  He frowned. Where the devil had such a thought come from? He wanted to see her as his own spoiled mistress, not as someone else’s dutiful wife. He sought something to distract his mind. “I am a what?” he asked, recalling the last words she’d uttered before pleasure had consumed her.

  “A…genius at dexterity,” she said, breathlessly.

  He laughed. What would she do or say next? He daren’t guess. “Sit up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to undo your hair.”

  She raised her brows. “Is it necessary?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But it takes so long to fix.”

  He sensed she was being difficult on purpose. Irritation intruded on his pleasurable excitement. One thing he prized above all in a mistress was a willingness to please.

  “Come now, up,” he said, forcing his most implacable tone.