A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (15 page)

Dear God, she was lovely.

Fanny’s skin blushed pale rose in the moonlight and she made no move to cover herself. It was as if her entire body steamed with newfound sensuality. He loosed the silky pantalets that fell down past her hips.

He slipped a hand under and cupped a round buttock. She uttered a small moan. “When a man is allowed to place his hand on a lady’s derriere . . .” Her scold was soft, throaty. “I believe it is compulsory to give her a kiss.”

He pulled her on top of him and kissed her sweetly.
And then again, not so sweetly. “Have you any idea how tempting you are?”

He propped her back up upright and she arched her back. “Touch me,” she moaned.

“Yes, my darling little wanton.” Until now, he had only dreamed of such delicious behavior with her. His fingers cupped the curve of each breast and traced the faintest outline of ribs. Her midriff quivered from an unseen surge of arousal. He would give her many more.

Using his thumb and index finger, he rolled each rosy tip to a hard point. He wanted to fondle her until she gasped for air and moaned. His voice was husky, urgent. “Show me what you want, Fanny.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. He swirled his tongue over each rosy tip and tugged gently with his teeth. He soothed the bites with a lick of his tongue, then gently drew each nipple into his mouth. With each lick or suckle, she uttered a cry that was part Fanny, part feral creature.

Shamelessly, she guided his hand between her legs. They’d left her pantalets puddled around her hips. The barest hint of feminine triangle edged above the folds of her drawers. His fingers inched along the silky fabric on the inside of her thighs. Brushing softly, teasing a bit, he paused at the entrance to her most private place. “May I?”

He watched a new ripple of pleasure course through her. “You may.” She opened wider, inviting his fingers to slide into uncharted territory.

Her warm, slick folds parted as his fingers delved deeper and found the spot that made her moan. He
circled his thumb. Soon, this small, magical place would become the center of her universe.

His fingers coaxed a new rhythm from her. And a deeper moan. He guided her hips and showed her how to thrust forward. “Ride me, Fanny.” She rocked back and forth across the flat of his stomach, bringing his cock roaring to attention. He groaned. “I take back what I said earlier. This is one hell of a trial.”

He alternated fast circles with long gentle strokes. He used his fingers to explore the entrance to her channel but held back, and did not penetrate. He was keeping this as chaste as he could stand it. And with every caress, arousal bloomed in her, each new pleasure building upon the last.

He delighted in her discoveries. “More, please!”

And her less polite commands. “Don’t stop.”

Rafe sensed from her groans that she had climbed to a new level. He kept the rhythm steady and placed her hand over his, so she might guide him without words, while he kissed her deeply. When he tweaked a nipple, she began to grind against his hand. “Yes.” She wanted faster, harder, more.

His own arousal was so great that just the right thrust across his groin might cause him to explode. He exhaled a ragged a sigh. “Let go, love.”

There was a soft gasp as she hovered at the peak of arousal. Her body quivered and bucked, then tumbled over the edge of pleasure. He held her close, felt her pulse throb through every fiber of her being, heard the sweet sigh of her climax.

He stroked her back quietly as she drifted in a new land of bliss. A string of kisses led to a lovely encounter with the dreamy, half-lidded eyes of a woman well-pleasured. A second shudder of release nearly triggered his own climax. Hardened to the point of discomfort, he moved his gaze lower. Her breasts swayed ever so slightly.

Good God, there was no place safe to look. He kissed each rosy tip and raised her camisole. Dutifully, he pulled up pretty drawers and tied silk ribbon. As if she could sense the ache in his groin, her fingers played along the buttons of his trousers. He followed her movements closely, knowing that he was ready to burst from his trousers. All it would take was a few buttons.

A low, pleading groan escaped his mouth. “Fanny—”

She kissed him, teasing her tongue over his lips, and laid claim to his mouth—a kind of take-charge kiss that he found extremely arousing. He tried another gasp of protest. “Darli—”

She pressed her finger to his mouth. “It is my turn now.”

Sitting up, she pulled the cord on his drawers. “Besides, I’m rather curious. I have never touched—” Uncaged, the beast sprang to life. “My word, and rather eager, I’d say.”

Warily, Rafe lay back in the hay. Fanny reached out and trailed her fingers over his chest and along ridges of abdomen muscle. He grinned. “How impossible you are to resist.” Delicate fingers moved past his groin and up the base of his shaft. So tentative, and yet so utterly arousing. He sucked in a breath.

Reaching the crown of his erection, she traced a finger over the smooth curvature of the tip. “It feels like the velvet muzzle of a horse,” she whispered, her eyes dark and liquid, “only—stretched very tight.”

He encircled her hand with his and showed her how to move up and down. There was a wanton vixen inside Fanny. “You always were a quick learner.”

He let go of her hand and left her to fondle and stroke and explore. A surge of arousal shot through his body until he thought he might die from the pleasure of her caress. “Be patient, my love, for I wish to prolong the pleasure.”

Cocking her head to one side, Fanny smiled at him. “Why?”

He muffled a chuckle, but not his next gasp. “Men are rather easy to please.” He showed her how to vary the pressure of each stroke and to gently cup his testicles.

Covering his full length, she put one hand above the other and encircled his cock with her fingers. He came so close to bursting, he was momentarily forced to take her hands away.

“Might I hold you tighter? Stroke faster?”

Rafe quickly returned her hands to his cock, where he encouraged a good deal of tighter and faster.

Chapter Twelve

“W
ake up, Fanny!” Rafe shook her gently.

Sleeping beauty stirred. “It’s still dark out.”

“All the better to sneak up on the cottage.” He grinned. She would call herself a fright. He would argue otherwise. Half-lidded eyes and untamable curls with a few bits of straw poking out. Last night, her unskilled touch had been astonishingly powerful and stimulating. Her every innocent moan had affected him strongly, and her pleasure had enlarged his own.

Rafe shook off libidinous thoughts. “Here. Have a sip of this.” He held out a tin ladle.

A pert nose wrinkled. “What is it?”

“Rainwater from a barrel below.”

She sat up straight. “You found a way down?”

Rafe nodded toward the center of the barn. “See that rope and tackle hanging from the rafter? Hooked it with a pitchfork and lowered myself down.”

A yawn turned into smile. “Aren’t you the sly one?” Fanny sipped, then gulped thirstily.

“Had a skulk around the cottage as well.” Her gown and petticoat were draped over his arm. “They train us well at Special Branch.”

She stopped drinking to catch a breath. “I had no idea Scotland Yard ran a detective school.”

“Not a school, more of an apprenticeship.”

“I’m sure the dowager Lady St. Aldwyn is thrilled you’ve taken up a trade.”

Rafe snorted. “You know very well she isn’t.”

“As a commoner I feel quite differently about your vocation.” Fanny handed back the ladle. “The fact that you are a Yard man, and quite a competent one at that, might be the single most attractive thing about you.” Seemingly surprised and amused by her own remark, Fanny raised both brows.

Rafe was equally amused, in a different way. “That’s not what you said last night, lass.”

A flood of color blushed her throat and cheeks and there was a squint, much like a hunter’s eyes before he fired upon a buck in the forest. She enhanced the look by chewing on her lower lip. “What happened last night—”

“Was rare and wonderful, Fan.”

She rolled her eyes. “Indeed, so rare we shall never speak of it again. Promise me, Rafe.”

“I meant rare as beyond compare—without equal.” He pulled her onto her feet. “And what happened is strictly between us.” Fanny brushed off bits of straw and stepped into the simple country frock. The little vixen had whipped up a tempest of desire last night, and now,
just looking at her . . . Rafe shook off the thought as he buttoned her up. They had work to do, a mission to accomplish.

At the edge of the loft, he turned to her. “I’ll go first and steady the ladder.” Fanny gamely followed on behind, until they were both safely on the ground. “This way.” Skirting several empty stalls, he led her into a dusty room, some sort of tool shop.

Rafe opened the door a crack and surveyed the farmyard. A pale glow rimmed the bluffs east of the loch. Dawn was breaking. He angled Fanny in front of him. “See the wood pile?” All eyes, she nodded. “There’s a window at the rear of the house I can crawl through. Give me to the count of one hundred, then make your way quietly around to the front door and knock just as plain as you please.

“Where will you be?” she whispered.

“Somewhere inside. Not sure exactly. Your knock will bring Wee Willie’s wife to the door, hopefully with her back to me and the Webley here.” Rafe pulled out the revolver and counted his bullets.

“Why don’t you just barge in and overpower her?”

“Fortunately for you, you are divertingly comic and lovely. Which means I shall answer your impertinent question.” He picked two pieces of straw from her hair. “We have no idea who is in there with the little missus. I’d rather not injure an innocent with a stray bullet. And what if the natty blokes are about?”

She frowned. “It will be my neck they’re after.”

His grin widened. “And my bullets they’ll get. Poor chaps, they have no idea what they’re in for.” He returned the pistol to his jacket pocket. “To one hundred. Slowly.”

Rafe lowered his profile and dashed quietly across the paddock. Behind the house, he used the blade of his pocketknife to lift the window latch. A sturdy fat log angled against the cottage wall lay right where he left it. He used the makeshift stepladder to get a look inside. A small room, likely the larder. He hoisted himself onto the ledge and into a sitting position, more inside than out.

He waited for his vision to adjust to the darkened room. Jars of preserves and sacks full of staples filled the deep shelves in front of him. A narrow door to one end would likely lead to the living quarters. Inching off the sill, he made the three-foot drop to the floor as quietly as possible.

The cat’s tail went unseen until he landed on it.

Much like a torture victim with his cock in a vise, the feline’s scream resounded through the larder and presumably the rest of the county. Large yellow eyes blinked at him from the shadows. He grabbed the growling minx by the ruff and tossed a flurry of gnashing fangs and swiping claws out the window. Another angry yowl came from outside.

Rafe sat on a large sack of grain and sucked the bloody scratch on his hand. Christ. One had to assume the current tenants, whoever they might be, were now fully awake. He heard a stirring in the next room—and something else. The floorboards beneath the grain sacks
shimmied. Rafe swung around and squinted into the darkness. Another mouser perhaps?

A rapid hammer of muffled taps resounded through the cottage. Fanny’s knocks. Rafe moved to the larder door and turned the knob. Nothing. He reversed directions. Bollocks. The door was locked from the outside. He searched wall hooks and shelves for a key.

FANNY STARED DOWN the cold steel barrels of a shotgun. At the other end of the gun Mrs. Tuttle was looking rather cross and bleary-eyed. Both she and the weapon swayed. Was she bladdered? Could a person wake up and still be drunk?

Squinting hard, the Tuttle woman craned her neck to see the barnyard. “Where’s that detective friend of yours?”

Fanny crossed her arms under her chest. “That was a rather unkind thing to do, Mrs. Tuttle, leaving us up in the loft without a ladder.”

After a wobbly peering about, the small woman grunted. “Inside.”

Fanny pressed forward, forcing the dwarf in skirts to shuffle backward. But the disagreeable woman didn’t fall or trip. Blast it.

“Not so fast, deary.”

Fanny stuck her chin out. “What have you done with the people who live here?

The small woman narrowed beady eyes on her. “Like to know, wouldn’t ye? Where’s the Yard man?”

The gloves were off, but the ruse might yet be on. Fanny’s gaze darted about the room. “Left in the middle of the night for town. Promised he would bring back the constable.” Fanny inched away from the barrel of the gun, searching for signs of life. The layout was simple enough. The cottage consisted of a main room with a pantry and kitchen to one end. A plain stairway with unadorned railing led to sleeping quarters above. Where was Rafe?

Fanny lifted her shoulders and shrugged. “He appears to be a reliable sort. Although we girls can never be sure about a bloke, can we?” She raised her voice and loosed a smile; perhaps she could win over Tuttle, if that was her name.