Ravishing Ruby (2 page)

“And yet you feel entitled to be rude because I touch another man, a patron. You made poor Milson most uncomfortable. He is not used to wondering if he is going to be challenged to a duel because he touches some whore's hand.” She was very close now. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“You are not a whore,” he said. “I thought you had expressed a dislike for the term in the past.”

“Ahh, you remember that. I was expressing what Milson thinks. I am quite sure the word
whore
comes to his mind even as he asks my advice.” She let out a long sigh, tickling the back of his neck. “But perhaps that is why he will take it—my advice.”

“I do not like that men think of you in such a fashion.”

Another laugh, the sound curling around him, sending shivers running deep in his gut. “Ah, my dear captain, you do not know what to think, do you? You can become irritable at the touch of a hand and accuse me of fucking my clients, but let another man even think the thought…”

“Do you need me to apologize again?” He did not turn to face her. He still was not sure what had come over him. Perhaps it was merely that he was weary, tired from the long journey.

“I am not sure. I will admit this is not how I pictured our next meeting occurring.”

It was his turn to sigh, to admit his own uncertainty. “No, and I suppose that is the problem. I am afraid I rather expected you to run into my arms in joy—not to find you stroking another man.”

“You make it sound as if he were naked and I was licking him like an ice melting in the sun.”

“Do not put that image into my head. I am afraid that I do not like you touching another man at all.”

“You do understand that there is actually next to nothing between us, you and me. That we had one night of passion—and perhaps the promise of another. It would be ridiculous to think of anything more.”

“I don't think—” he started. He had reacted badly, and he knew it.

She cut him off. “Yes, you do. You would have managed more than one brief note of apology for your delay if you thought there was more, regardless of circumstance.”

“So you do want another apology.”

This time her sigh was tinged with anger. “No, I simply wish us both to be clear about what this is between us. And how can you even dream that there is more when you won't even turn to look at me?”

He turned on his heels and stared down at her brilliant wig. God, he hated the thing—and yet loved it as well. There was something about seeing her all done up and dressed to please, while knowing the truth of what was hidden beneath, that had his already semi-hard cock rising to the occasion.

She tilted her head up, and for a moment he was caught in her eyes, deep orbs of sapphire and cobalt swirling with thoughts that said so much while hiding all. Her lips parted and his gaze moved to her mouth, red painted and swollen, inviting a man to dream of all the uses he could put it to. And she knew it, blast her. There was no denying the knowledge of those eyes, the look that told a man she understood his every thought.

She took a half step forward, and his eyes dropped lower, into the deep scoop of her bodice, creamy flesh against red silk and black lace. He could see her pull in a breath, see her breasts rise, strain against the fabric. And still he had to fight the urge to bend down and bury his face between them, to inhale her scent, to push down the fabric and bare the rosy pink nipples, to…

“You are looking a little more happy to see me, or at least parts of me,” she whispered in her throaty voice.

“Blast you, Ruby. You know exactly what you are doing.”

“Of course I do. Isn't it what you first noticed about me?”

“Actually I think I noticed your tits first, and then your ass—unless that's what you meant.”

She smiled, her ruby lips inviting. “I suppose I meant both—tits and personality. I am very aware of where your eyes landed on our first encounter.”

Her tongue slipped out and ran slowly from edge to edge of her full lower lip, adding shine to the brilliant red. His gaze followed, captured. Again his mind filled with images of just what he'd liked that mouth to do, of what that mouth had done in the past. He shifted his weight, resisting the urge to readjust himself.

He forced his glance back up to her eyes and saw the hidden smile there. Deliberate, so deliberate.

He let his gaze fall back to her mouth. She ran her tongue across again, pausing in the middle, then biting down slightly with pearly teeth. He was going to burst.

He looked back to her eyes. She knew just what he was thinking—he could see it all reflected there—and reveled in it, both the desire and the power.

That was enough.

Reaching out, he grabbed her, pulling her tight, one hand sliding around her waist, the other tangling in her hair.

It was time to make this night all he had dreamed of.

His lips slammed into hers. Ruby gasped in surprise—and then his tongue was in her mouth, filling her, daring her, asking for more.

She breathed deep, pulling in his scent. Musk and man and clean sweat—and perhaps a little too much horse. He had not been joking when he'd said he'd hurried to get here.

His fingers gripped her hair tight, pulling her neck back, opening her mouth further and granting him full access.

She gave willingly.

She wanted this, needed this.

Wanted him.

She had not realized how much until he'd strode into the room. Months of denying her hopes, and now he was here.

Her own tongue darted out, tangling with his.

She ran it around his mouth, tracing the line between teeth and gum. He moaned deep in his throat.

Her belly tightened at the sound.

She pressed up on her toes, fastening her lips to his, letting him feel what he did to her.

They were breathing fast now, chests pumping, puffs of air traded between them.

His hand on her waist lifted her, bringing her into full contact with his chest and hips. The motion increased the flurry within her. She was not a small woman, and the way he moved her made her feel light and delicate as she rarely had before. She pressed her tongue deeper, withdrew, pressed again. His tongue met hers, matching her motion. There could be no mistaking the intent behind the gesture.

She nipped softly at his tongue, her teeth catching and holding. Her thighs quivered with need and she could feel herself become damp.

He tugged hard on her hair; she released his tongue, but pressed her hips forward, grinding herself into him.

Full. Hard. Needy.

She pushed harder, angling herself for her own pleasure. God, he felt good. She couldn't wait to feel his skin against hers, to see his flesh bare before her, the magnificent muscles hers to touch and caress. And the dragon—his dragon—the scrumptious emerald and red tattoo that played across his belly, its tail winding up the base of his cock. Oh, she could not wait to dare that dragon. From the first moment she'd seen it, when she'd been peering through a peephole and watching him perform, she'd wanted it, she'd wanted him.

As she wanted him now. God, the things this man did to her just by entering a room. It had been this way that one magical night when she'd revealed herself, revealed Emma, to him—and if anything, the feeling had only grown greater.

She pressed herself even tighter against him, feeling the need grow within her.

His lips released hers. She wanted to complain, but then they were moving down to her jawline, playing at the edge of her chin, moving to the tender skin of her neck, moving ever downward.

More. More. She wanted more.

One of her hands ruffled through his hair, holding him tight. The other ran across his broad back, feeling the intense play of muscles beneath his jacket. Skin. She wanted to feel his skin, to know his flesh pressed against her own.

His lips settled in the hollow of her throat, his tongue licking and tasting. How could one small spot be so sensitive? So needy?

His fingers in her hair pulled her back even further, her back arching against him, her pelvis tight against his hardness. Her thighs pushed together, trying to soothe the ache that only grew. She wanted him in her, wanted him filling her.

His lips moved lower, hitting the upper curve of her breast. His mouth opened. He nipped down, teeth scraping along.

So good. So good.

The moan formed deep in her chest and grew, filling her, filling the room.

“I need you. I need you now,” he growled in reply.

And then her bodice was down, her breasts bare. Her nipples peaked and strained, wanting his lips, his mouth.

A gasp and his mouth settled upon her, hot and moist.

The very sensation almost sent her to orgasm, her body primed and ready.

He drew the tip in hard, his tongue rubbing, his teeth grating.

Now. She needed him now. Her mind echoed his words.

The hand at her behind began to move, gathering the silk of her skirt, the heavy fabric no match for his determination.

And then his hand was on her bare flesh, her bare ass, his fingers kneading and grasping.

Breast. Ass. Her mind split at the pleasure that overwhelmed her.

His fingers dropped from her hair. A movement between their two bodies. Her skirt pushed higher.

He was in her, filling her. So complete. So needed.

Her back hit the paneling of the wall. His teeth continued to nip at her breast.

God. God. God.

So big. So hard.

Both his large hands settled on her ass, lifting her.

Her legs swept forward, tightening around him. Squeezing, pressing, drawing him deeper.

She rubbed herself back and forth, up and down.

Now. God, please now.

He pulled back, pounded forward.

Again. Again.

Each thrust sending her higher, striking at that most sensitive of spots, that most needy of places.

The strength of his thighs against hers was breathtaking, with each thrust the hard muscles pushed against her own tender flesh. It was more than she could take.

Higher.

Higher.

Breaking.

She felt it gather. Felt herself give in to the pound and push, felt—felt—

“Derek!” His name flew from her lips in a cry.

And then another.

She could fly no further.

And then he thrust again, hit that spot again—and she did.

This time his name was a scream.

And then it was done. Except it wasn't.

He pulled and pushed again. Hard. Fast. Endless.

Her body gathered again—and before she could even think it hit again, ripping her mind from her. Nothing existed except pleasure, and what pleasure. Pleasure so great it almost hurt. It did hurt. Every inch of her sparked and screamed. She was lightning hot and fast across the sky.

She felt him pull back. The final great thrust.

Her given name, Emma, filled the room. His teeth bit down on her shoulder as he smothered a second scream, his whole body tight and tense.

And then the release. She felt it fill her, felt his passion, felt his world stop.

Collapse. Could you stand and still collapse? Evidently you could.

Her feet hit the floor softly, her legs pressed against his, holding her up as she slid down his body.

Her forehead came to rest upon his still fully dressed chest. Her skirt slipped down, covering her.

Great gasps of air filled her lungs.

His heart beat hard against her cheek. Even through the layers of fabric there was no mistaking that pound.

She turned her sweat-dampened face and pressed a quiet kiss against that rapid beat.

What had just happened? That sure as hell had not been something he'd planned, he'd controlled.

Oh, he'd planned to fuck her this night, but not against a wall—and certainly not in the main parlor.

He might be a sailor, but he was not without manners, despite his recent words—his wealthy parents had seen to that. On this side of the ocean he might be a simple colonial, but at home in Rhode Island he was one of the very best.

Shit. Where was his mind wandering? The woman bewitched him, sent his thoughts along tracks he'd always avoided.

Hell, he'd been taught to treat all ladies with respect, not like whores.

And he didn't see her as a whore—he never had after that first true encounter in her parlor when she'd refused his every request, both the reasonable and the unreasonable. And that was before he'd even seen her as Emma, seen the soft blond hair that hid beneath the brassy wig, seen her endless blue eyes unrimmed by kohl, seen the face she hid so artfully from the world.

If he'd never met her as Emma, maybe his mind would not have spent the last months dreaming of this woman who had captivated him as no other, maybe he would not have been drawn back here as surely as any moth was ever drawn to a flame.

He'd come here this night intending to see sweet Emma and instead he'd gotten Ruby—Ruby who could handle herself in any situation.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, she let out a soft, “Fuck.”

“That we most certainly did, Madame,” he replied.

“I cannot deny that. It most certainly was a fuck and rather a fine one, but I never—and I do mean never—indulge in the downstairs rooms.”

“Just as you never indulge with your patrons.”

“Well, I don't,” she mumbled against his chest.

He laughed, and her face pressed tight as the sound rumbled through his chest.

“No, you most certainly don't,” he replied.

He felt her draw back, her chin tilting so she could stare up at him.

“Do you think anyone heard?” she asked.

“You would know the acoustics of the house better than I, but I cannot imagine they did not.”

She stepped away, her hands quickly fixing her bodice and brushing her skirts to straightness. “I am afraid you are right. And there is no mistaking those sounds.”

“No.” He looked her over. “You need to straighten your hair.”

A quick flick, and her wig settled properly. “How's that?”

“Fine, but I am afraid you still look thoroughly fucked.” And damn, did she ever. Soft, puffy lips, red from their kisses. Skin flushed and damp.

His cock twitched.

In another moment he'd be ready to go again—and he didn't see a problem with that. Although, perhaps, upstairs. The woman had a bathing chamber that surpassed all description. “Are you free the rest of the evening?”

She looked up at him, her eyes focusing as she considered. “You do make assumptions, believing that you can simply appear and I will…”

“And won't you?”

Ruby released a long sigh. “I should protest, but it seems a waste of breath. I will need to arrange things for the evening—see if one of the girls wants to watch the parlor and greet patrons, and be sure that Simms has all under control.”

“I can be patient.”

“That has not been my experience.” The painted lips turned up. She brushed her skirts one more time, glanced down at her bodice, and then arranged herself.

Did she always need to look like she was about to pop free? He supposed, given her profession, she did, but he was not at all sure that he liked it. He was beginning to feel a little territorial about that magnificent bosom.

With a sway of her hips, she headed to the door. “Give me a moment and I'll send Simms in to show you up.”

“I believe I know my way. I've always been good with direction.”

She turned back to him. “I am afraid the duke's chamber is in use tonight. I'll have to put you somewhere else.”

Derek was not sure that he liked the idea of being put anywhere. “That's a shame. I was definitely looking forward to the shower bath. Isn't it accessible from another room? You didn't come from my chamber last time.”

Her face grew guarded. “The only other way is through my chamber.”

“And…?”

She turned away. “I will send Simms.” And then she was gone.

He walked back to the window and stared out into the night. Everything had seemed so simple a few hours before.

Ruby slipped out of the parlor, hoping her cheeks were not as flushed as she feared—and her hair, she had deliberately not looked in the mirror.

Simms stood a few feet from the door, back stiff. He did not look in her direction as she stepped out. Clearly he knew something had happened.

Had they been that noisy? She knew they had, but she'd still hoped it had not been noticed.

“Is everything running smoothly, Simms?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am.” He still did not look at her.

Blast and double blast. How could she have been so careless? She worked so hard to be sure that her reputation was untouchable, that she was untouchable. How could she have risked it all for…

For Derek.

Why did the man make her lose all sense of judgment simply by walking into the room?

He'd done that the last time, their first time, their only time—although she couldn't quite say that after what had just happened. Three months ago, she'd been convinced that, despite her own attraction for the rugged captain, she would never give in, and then she'd found herself heading to the shower bath to join him. She hadn't even kept the armor of her wig, the armor of Ruby, the worldly madam. She'd gone to him as herself, sweet Emma who didn't always want to face the life that she lived. And then he'd left and only bothered with one brief note.

But this was not the time to think of that. Other things were more important in this instance.

She pulled a breath in, calmed herself. It was only Simms. Simms would not say anything. “Has anyone arrived since I began my conversation with Captain Price?”

Simms turned to look at her. “Lord Milson departed as soon as he left the parlor. He did not wait for his brandy. Mr. Morrow called down for some towels. I did not ask why, but sent the new maid up with them. Lord Smythe asked for some additional brandy. I added it to his bill. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Browne both departed, both seemed more than contented. Mr. Johnson said he will return tomorrow and asked that Tilly be available. And…”

“…And?” She could tell he was avoiding something.

“And Lord Thorton arrived.”

“…And?”

“I am afraid that I was still taking his hat when…when—I will just say that Lord Thorton did not seem pleased that you were referring to Captain Price by his Christian name.”

Ruby dropped her eyes. Of everyone to have heard her scream, Lord Thorton was not the best, or the worst. He had propositioned her several times over the years, but in an almost joking fashion. Surely he would not take the matter amiss. She might have to be more diplomatic the next time she put him off, but she had always excelled at walking the fine line of flirtation and maintaining a businesslike manner. It was true Lord Thorton would no longer accept that she simply had a rule against indulging, but she would think of something. Perhaps a new rule. The man did have a passion for rules, as her girls had revealed on several occasions. At least it was not Lord Tumble who had heard. That man could spread gossip faster than a cat could chase a mouse. “Thank you for keeping me informed. Is the end room still free?”