Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 03] Read online

She kissed him back. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and she threw herself into the kiss as if he were saving her from drowning once again. He stumbled, she followed, and they arrived together on the carpet as if by design.

  He was hot to the touch, hot to the taste. Rose slid her hands beneath the open collar of his shirt even as his right hand slid to the nape of her neck. Her shawl fell to the floor, freeing her breasts to press to his broad chest with only two thin layers of fabric between. It was two too many.

  She was not soft and pliant beneath him. She was supple steel on fire and he was her blacksmith. The taste of her mouth was wild and unexpectedly hot, as if all her prim competence was a shell around a molten core.

  He had made her so. She had melted at his hand. Possessive satisfaction flooded him, like hot brandy over the fire of his need. The heat rose within him, burning up every thought but one. My Rose. Mine.

  Then she uttered a small, broken noise. Unmistakably one of pain. Collis realized that he had embraced her with both arms, the good and the bad, and he was gripping her with bruising force. He released her instantly. Chagrin nearly doused his desire as he scrambled back from her. He stood and backed away, knees nearly shaking from interrupted desire.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Louis Wadsworth stood at the window, surveying the kingdom of his factory from the tower of his office. Wadsworth & Son, Munitions, was spread out before him like a feudal keep of old. His father, the unlamented Edward Wadsworth, had entertained delusions of nobility, declaring that if he had been born centuries ago, he would have been made a lord for the power and wealth he’d accumulated. It had been promises of just that sort of reward under Napoleon that had lured Louis’s father into treason in the first place.

  Frankly, Louis couldn’t care less about such things. Oh, he admired Napoleon’s initiative and sheer nerve and certainly considered the British aristocracy to be a vast pool of leeches. His own king and prince were beneath his disdain. All that rampant emotionalism—Prinny with his ladyloves and his art and music.

  Louis truly respected only one thing. Money. There was only one reason that he’d bothered to continue his father’s plotting. For the shipment of “George IV Commemorative Carbines” he was going to be paid very handsomely. Twice.

  He very nearly smiled at the thought. He only wished he’d had time to sound out other bidders. The Americans likely would have chipped in as well. Ah, well, his father had never possessed any real vision.

  The thought of being caught had never entered the picture until he’d seen the mangled mahogany case on the floor of his study. But nothing had come of it yet. The men responsible could be mere thieves or might be holding out for some sort of blackmail.

  Unless it truly had been Collis Tremayne in his study in the night. The heir to Etheridge…no, he was no common parlor thief. Etheridge was on the side of justice and right. Incorruptible, Louis’s father had said. Louis wasn’t sure. Every man had a price, after all. It was merely a matter of being willing to pay it.

  A tap came at his door. Louis clasped his hands behind his back. “Enter,” he called without turning.

  “Sir?”

  Ah, it was the minion with initiative. Louis exhaled. “Back so soon? Did you bring me something nice?”

  “Yes, sir. I caught a boy just before he knocked on the door to the house. He had him a message from a gent what was staying at Mrs. Blythe’s.”

  Mrs. Blythe? “How…coarse.”

  The minion didn’t quite snicker. “Yes, sir. The note came in two parts. One for the manservant, and another for him what to pass on to Lord Liverpool.”

  Louis hungered for that second message. He closed his eyes and savored the anticipation. “And where are the two messages now?”

  “I let the boy deliver the one to the valet bloke. It didn’t say nothing but where the man was. I kept the other for you.”

  “And the boy won’t talk?”

  “Not anymore, sir.”

  “Excellent. You may put the letter on my desk.” Louis didn’t turn until he heard the man shuffle from the room and close the door. Then Louis turned to regard the folded missive with cool restraint and hot, avid eyes.

  After a moment, he allowed himself to open the letter to Lord Liverpool and read. It was lovely. It was everything he’d thought it would be. Of course, it mentioned no names or definite facts, but when one knew more than the letter writer, one could read between the lines. After all, he was the one telling this story, wasn’t he?

  Mrs. Blythe’s. Louis knew of her, of course, although he’d never entered her establishment. His tastes were much more refined now. So Mrs. Blythe had an influential guest, hmm?

  With precise pleasure, he rang for his secretary. “That fellow who was just here—I wish him to be silenced. And send me someone else…someone thorough. I have a bit of work to be done.”

  “I hurt you,” Collis blurted from his safe and lonely distance. “I’m sorry.”

  Rose was still sprawled on the floor, but now half-risen on her elbows. Her expression was part aroused smolder and part confused irritation, all directed at him. Her never-terribly-modest gown was rucked up to her knees and hung half off one ivory shoulder. Her hair was mussed and her lips swollen from his kiss.

  She looked a proper mess. She’d never been more beautiful to him. He held out his hand to aid her to her feet. She batted him aside and rose on her own. “Don’t be an ass, Collis.”

  “I’m sorry. I never should have—I should know that I can’t—”

  Something in his tone caught her attention. She looked up swiftly. “You can’t?” Her fine brows drew together. “Does that mean you haven’t, ah,” she waved a hand vaguely at the floor where they had just lain, “since you were wounded?”

  He shook his head. She had a right to know. “No.”

  For some odd reason, she smiled. It was a swift, happy expression, gone almost before he registered it. She then folded her arms over her barely covered bodice and regarded him somberly. “So all the flirting?”

  He shrugged. “Smoke without the fire.”

  “No fire at all?”

  He growled. “None! Satisfied?”

  “Oh, not nearly.” She tapped her fingertips meditatively. “I happened to have observed that all the pertinent equipment is in working order, yes?”

  Her wording surprised a bark of laughter from him. “The equipment is working, yes.” Oh, God yes. The way her crossed arms braced her pretty bosom was providing abundant fuel for the “equipment,” even now. It was very nearly enough to encourage furthering the conversation, if only to continue the utterly delectable view.

  “So the problem is?”

  He drew his gaze from her décolletage with a sigh. “The problem, Rose,” he clapped his hand to his wounded arm, “is that I cannot control this piece of dead wood enough to trust myself not to hurt someone.” The last words were betrayed by his hoarseness. Damn his voice for breaking.

  Rose crossed the distance between them in a bound. Her supple arms surrounded him, pulling him close for comfort he’d never dared ask for.

  Rose closed her eyes when she felt his arm come around her. She’d embraced him impulsively, pulled by his pain. Too late, she had worried for her own. But he didn’t push her away. Instead, he took that comfort, dropping his face into her neck with a gusting breath that warmed her skin and her heart.

  “I would try for you,” he whispered.

  He was too tall to coddle, though she longed to heal the broken boy within him. He was a man, with a man’s touchy pride and walls of stone around his vulnerability.

  As their touching flesh warmed, she was distracted by her own still-tingling state of arousal. His body was so hard against hers, his muscles and broad chest like rock to her softer flesh. A man, indeed.

  She wanted to be naked with Collis. Now. She wanted to see and touch and kiss and bite every inch of naked Collis.

  He barked a short, hard laugh int
o her neck, making her realize she’d spoken aloud. “Your wish is my command, lady spy.” He stripped off his shirt in a single nearly graceful movement, but for the way his damaged arm tangled the matter. She pulled the silk from him the rest of the way, too impatient to wait, and tossed it to the floor. He moved to take her in his arms again, but she pressed both hands to his chest.

  “Wait. I want to look.”

  Emotions flickered in those gray eyes. Surprise, arousal, and…wariness. She must erase that. “This is not the first time I’ve seen you thus.”

  “True.”

  “I like your chest.” She spread her hands wide over the thick muscles covering his torso. He sucked in a breath when she dug her nails in slightly. She’d wanted to do this for so long…maybe all her life. The gleaming flesh she had only allowed herself to fight, now she was allowed to love.

  If she died tomorrow, she would be furious with herself for passing up this chance. He didn’t love her, of course. She didn’t mind. She loved him and that was enough for the moment.

  It wasn’t as if there was ever going to be another.

  Both saddened and liberated by that thought, she stepped back from him. His hand rose as if to reach for her. His one hand.

  In a flash, she had understood so much. All those “conquests,” all those flirtations—lies. A mask, a fog, to hide his dark and painful insecurity. What a demon for a man to keep inside!

  Ah, but then, she was a trained fighter, was she not?

  She danced another step away. “Shh.”

  He obeyed, but dark warning flickered in his gaze. She liked him obedient, she decided. For now. He burned deep, she knew that of him. When he burst into flame—she shivered in anticipation of that erotic danger.

  But there was something she must do first. She took the pins from her hair and let it fall. His lips parted at the rich blue-black cascade down her back. Then she pulled slowly at the tiny bows binding the bodice of her “virginal” dress. The silk parted easily, as it was designed to do, so that by the time she’d untied the last one at her waist, her breasts were fully exposed to his hot gaze.

  The room was warm, but her nipples crinkled nonetheless as the air caressed them. She refused to shiver, however. Louis had liked her shy and shivering and cowering—she would not shiver with Collis. She would not play shy, pretending she did not want him as badly as he wanted her.

  Neither would she declare her love. There would be no point in it, nor any profit. This was a one-night affair. She would not waste precious time with pretense.

  With her chin high, she stepped forward once more to rest her right hand on his left shoulder. His left arm showed little difference to the right, thanks to Kurt’s strengthening regimen. His flesh was firm and ruddy, his muscles thick and corded. Only his hand seemed different—lifeless and still compared to the flashing competence of the right.

  She slid her hand down to entwine her fingers with his stiff ones. He watched this, making as if to pull away. She tightened her grip. “Shh.”

  She raised both their hands to press a kiss to his fingers. They jerked, a spastic movement that nearly crushed her fingers. She covered it gently with her other hand, as if capturing a wild thing. His gaze was guarded and unsure now, as if he actually feared her rejection. Bloody idiot.

  She slid her fingers out from between his in a slow release, enjoying the heat of his hand captured in hers. She spread his palm over her bare breast and closed her eyes, letting the glow of manly warmth ease the ache in her aroused nipple.

  “But I cannot feel you,” he whispered.

  “Selfish thing. I can feel you.” She opened her eyes to smile at him. “Or don’t you care?”

  He made a confused, frustrated noise. “Of course I care, but how you could enjoy the touch of that dead thing—”

  “Dead? When it is as hot as those coals?” She looked down at his sun-darkened fingers spread open over her paler flesh. Lovely. Louis had such soft, white, damp hands. “And this is not a thing. I see strength, and power. This is a warrior’s hand. An artist’s hand.”

  “No longer.” He almost pulled away then.

  She caught him back and pressed him tighter to her. “I like your touch, Collis. This is you, not some rock tied to the end of your arm. Perhaps it doesn’t work as well as you like, but neither do my eyes. Or do you hold my spectacles against me?”

  He smiled slightly, the old roguish Collis appearing for a moment. “I like you in your spectacles. You look so serious and studious. I used to fantasize about taking them off to kiss you.”

  “What a delightful thought.”

  He laughed, then gently pulled his hand away. The motion lacked his previous panic, though. “Now who’s the selfish one? I’d very much like to feel you now.”

  “Another charming idea.” She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, offering herself freely, delicious anticipation tickling her spine.

  She felt the heat of his body as he stepped closer. His right hand came to rest on her other, rather lonely breast. So warm, like the other, but there ended the similarity. Collis Tremayne certainly knew his way around the female nipple.

  “Oh, damn,” she said softly to the ceiling. “I’m surely in trouble now.”

  His chuckle swept across her bare neck, awaking new tingles. He kissed them away, never ceasing his teasing, plucking caresses.

  “Both hands,” she whispered. “’Tis only fair. Two breasts, after all.”

  “I—I have no control,” he protested. “I might hurt you.”

  “Am I a hothouse flower, then?” she asked, throwing his words back at him.

  He laughed. “You remember? I thought you near unconsciousness.”

  “Touch me, Collis. I am a common weed, a briar, remember? You cannot hurt me.”

  His left hand came up to rest over her breast. He made no attempt at the subtle skills of the right but only cupped and warmed her with his palm.

  “Not a weed. A briar rose. A survivor,” he murmured as he tasted the skin of her throat. “Have you ever tried to kill briar roses in a pasture, Rose?” He kissed the spot where her murmur of denial originated. “Hack them, burn them—they grow back more beautiful than ever, blooming like mad, perfuming every breath, until you’d rather let them be than destroy them.”

  His words nearly brought tears to her eyes. Too close, too vulnerable. Careful. She snorted irreverently. “Are you trying to say I’ve grown on you?”

  “I’m trying to say that you are strong, you are lovely, and you smell so damn good—” He wrapped both arms about her waist and slung them both bodily onto the mattress. His left arm held too tightly, but she would have died rather than say so. He growled into her neck, then pulled up to glare into her eyes. “I think you should shut up now…until I make you scream.”

  She gazed up at him saucily. “I double-damn dare you.”

  He came down upon her even as she rose to meet him. It was like a dance, an ancient dance bred into their bones, each of them exploring the other in a celebration meant from the beginning of time. His hands, both of them, stroked down her body beneath him as he kissed her. Subtle curves, subtle beauty, all the more precious for being his to discover.

  “I love your hands on me,” she murmured into his lips. “Play me. Let me be your instrument.”

  Smiling, Collis slipped to one side of her, pressing her body to his length. His left arm supported her and held those pretty breasts arched high for his hungry attention. His right hand was for her. He slid his dancing fingertips down her taut belly to her bare navel. Farther…and she shivered in his arms. He took her rigid nipple gently between his teeth just to feel her tremble again.

  The quiver traveled through her body, leading his questing hand farther like an arrow pointing his way. The gown only parted so far. He flattened his hand and slid it beneath the fabric, seeking her secret like the spy he was.

  Her hips leaped slightly at the touch of his nimble fingers combing into her silky nest. She was so ready to be
played by him. He found her sweetly dampened and eager for him. He could drive himself into her now and he knew she would not object.

  Later. He was too busy making soft and breathy music fly from her lips. The piano required a delicate touch, a way of sneaking up on the note and making it sound without ringing. Rose was more sensitive than any ivory or ebony keys. With the merest shiver of his fingertips, he found her note and made her sing it.

  When her orgasm swept her, he pulled her close and kissed her, taking the music for his own. When he released her, she lay dazed in his arms while final tiny quivers visibly rang through her.

  Eventually she caught her breath. Pity. He’d enjoyed watching her pert breasts heave. Then she smiled up at him and slid her hands up his bare chest. “I begin to see where you earned your reputation.”

  Then, quick as a wink, he found himself on his back on the bed and Rose above him. Laughing in surprise, he was soon sobered by the way she kissed his neck and ear.

  Rose was still thrumming from her experience. Her body felt alive and shivery. More. There was more to come and she wanted it. Still, a little demon of competition would not allow her to lie back and let Collis do all the seducing.

  She threw one thigh over him and straddled his body, trapping his erection beneath her, yet hiding everything with the skirt that still clung to her hips. His hands began to slide up her legs to her hips, but she pressed them back down to just above her knees. This was her turn. Bare-breasted as a Greek goddess, she pinned him down while she did her best to drive him mad.

  His body was like rock and satin and hot embers. She spread her open hands across the breadth of his chest but didn’t even begin to cover it. Wide, broad, and strong. On impulse she bent low and bit lightly at his muscular shoulder while she ran her hands between them to stroke his rippling taut stomach.

  He grew beneath her, pressing larger and firmer to her center. She couldn’t resist a small grind of her hips, just to hear him groan. He did. Satisfied that he was not the only one who could elicit hungry noises, she desisted. There was still so much strong, hard body to explore.