The Copper and the Madam (13 page)

“Do you feel the same?”

Damned stupid man. Speak the words
. “I
love you, Rhiannon.”

He lifted her leg and laid it on his hip.
With a gentle slide, his cock slipped into the wetness of her
pussy. She reached behind to clasp his arse and together they moved
in a slow, sensual rhythm. They both moaned, and reached their peak
at the same time.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.” she whispered.

Cian lay on the small cot in the room behind
the kitchen, but sleep would not come. The kiss he’d shared with
Caroline played over in his mind on an endless loop. Something
about the wee lass stirred his heart and other parts of his
anatomy. He should be paying attention to the matter at hand, the
murder investigation, not flirting with a cook. A clatter of pots
interrupted his heated thoughts. He stood and glanced into the
darkened kitchen.

“What’s the matter darlin’, couldn’t
sleep?”

Caroline gasped and spun around; her shawl
fell to the floor. How delectable she looked with her wavy chestnut
brown hair hanging past her shoulders. Though small in build, he
could observe her sensual curves under the sheer nightgown. The
light from the candle illuminated the entrance to the backroom.
Cian stood in the doorway with his arms raised above his head, his
hands clutching the frame. Shirtless, he let her look her full. His
trousers hung low on his hips. He shifted his weight to his other
foot, and the muscles rippled under his skin. Caroline’s mouth
dropped open as her gaze moved over him in a slow, studied manner.
Pleasure moved through him. Aye, he was showing off. It had taken a
lot of hard work to hone his body into its current muscled state,
so he savored her approval. Cian stepped from the doorframe and
glided toward her. She did not move, but just continued to stare at
his bare torso.

“I...I need hot milk.”

He stopped, reached for the candle, and set
it on the nearby counter.

“If you need warming up or perhaps help
sleeping, I know of a few ways besides heated milk,” he rasped.

“You can’t help yourself, can you? You are a
wicked man, Detective O’Connor.”

He stroked her chin, his thumb brushing her
lips.

“My name is Cian.”

“Fine, Cian, then. Regardless, stop touching
me and go back to your cot. If there is any warming to be done, I
will do it myself,” she huffed.

“I don’t want to stop touching you. Truth be
told, you don’t want me to stop. As for being wicked, aye, I have
my moments. Every woman likes a bit o’ wicked in their man. Spices
things up,” he purred.

He spoke the truth. For her, he would be as
wicked as she wished. Gulping, she stepped back from his touch
where the candlelight cast flickering shadows over her incandescent
beauty. His heart did a tumble in his chest.

“Spice is overrated. Never mind. I don’t want
the milk.”

She turned to leave, but he halted her
escape.

“Let me escort you back to your room.” He
picked up the candle.

“You don’t know your way around. I am capable
of finding my own way.”

Cian pulled her close. His breath fanned her
cheeks.

“I’ve been here a few times. I know my way
around enough.”

She scoffed. “As a customer, you mean. I am
not surprised.”

“Aye, so what? Everyone needs a little
tenderness and companionship; even you, my frosty little cook. By
the saints, you are a cold one. Sorry to have troubled you.” He let
go and stepped away. He felt the loss of her warmth. Anger flooded
his insides. And to be honest with himself, he hurt. Another
rejection, par for the course. “Wait.” She grabbed his arm and his
muscles tensed. “I am sorry. I am usually not this—impolite.”

“You are attracted to me, and you don’t like
it.” He set the candle on the counter again.

“Yes, I suppose that is true. I have worked
here at The Blind Cupid for the last eight years, since Rea found
me alone in the streets. I know nothing of men and their ways. And
before you say I am living at a whorehouse, I stay well clear of
all that. You are the first man that has—interested me.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her confession.
“Well then, that is something to build on. Give us a kiss, darlin’,
and I’ll take you back to your room. Do you get a day off?”

Good God, did he think to court her? His head
spun at the possibility.

“Sunday afternoons....”

“Right, then. Come this Sunday be ready at
one o’clock. I will be by to escort you to the park.” He cupped her
face and angled her head so she stared up at him. “You move me,
lass.”

His lips captured hers in a ferocious and
passionate kiss. His tongue tasted every inch of her mouth. As he
pulled her closer, light flooded the kitchen.

They sprang apart. Rory stood by the wall
sconce, his fingers still gripping the gas switch. Caroline touched
her reddened cheeks. “Doing a last check. I take it all is well
down here?” Rory’s mouth quirked.

“Aye, I’m about to show the lass back to her
room.”

“I can do that, Cian.”

Cian stood behind her and clasped her arms.
He pulled Caroline against the solid wall of his body. His cock,
hard and hot, pressed against her back. Cian was aroused, as he had
not been in some time. She did not move away from him; in fact, she
leaned back a little more, rolling her body against his. Teasing
minx. “Miss Greenwood?” Rory questioned, his eyebrow cocked.

Caroline cleared her throat. “The detective
can escort me.”

Cian smiled. Maybe he could manage to capture
another kiss from Caroline’s luscious lips. An Irish copper and a
brothel cook. Aye, why not?

Damn it all to hell, he had no idea of the
time. Southen sat on the floor of the small, dark room off the
passageway. When he’d first entered the cramped space and had seen
the voyeur peep holes in the wall, he grew hard at the prospect of
witnessing carnal activity. Instead, the brothel was as silent as a
church.

He had to piss. Did he dare slink about the
halls to the water closet? The sound of a heavy tread walking about
in the passageway put an end to that plan. The knob rattled.
Southen held his breath, but the door did not open, apparently
locked from the outside. It had been ajar when he found this small
room. He would bet the lurching footsteps belonged to Sergeant
Kerrigan. The footfalls retreated. One crisis averted. Southen sat
on the floor again, groaning as his leg roared in pain.

Mulling over his options passed the time. He
could murder everyone in their beds. He shrugged. Why bother? He
didn’t feel like killing at the moment. Once, he had not thought
himself capable of murder, but turned out he was, and he liked it.
Committing homicide had not been his plan when he engaged in sexual
activity with the two young men. He wanted to remember everything.
He enjoyed the feel of hot blood on his skin and the power he felt
as the life drained out of his victims. It aroused him to higher
passions than he had ever known. Perhaps he should kill more
slowly. Would it enhance the pleasure? How arousing would it be to
mutilate first? Taking a deep breath, he smiled in the darkness.
Yes, that thought aroused him most of all.

Perhaps he should exact his revenge on the
madam’s handsome male whore who had smashed his hands. The lad
stood well over six-and-a-half feet tall and muscular; in truth,
the young man had frightened him. The cool, icy indifference in his
expression as he pounded his fingers with his boot would be
something he would not soon forget. His hired man had not seen the
giant in several days. However, his man did not survey the place
twenty-four hours a day, so who could be sure?

He would take his revenge on the woman who
had ordered his severe beating. Perhaps he would break her leg.
Smash her fingers. Cut off an ear as a keepsake. His prick throbbed
with anticipation.

Yes, he would make her bleed.

***

Rory sat on the edge of the bed buttoning his
shirt. “So, you are to be Rea the madam today, are you?”

She continued to pin her fiery red wig in
place. Rays of early morning sunlight warmed the room and cast a
bright, golden glow over them both.

“Yes. This madam is not used to rising quite
so early. However, there is much to do. The first order of business
is to write notes to a couple of prospective buyers who have
expressed interest in purchasing The Blind Cupid in the past. I
want to set up meetings as soon as possible.”

Standing behind her at the mirror, Rory
roamed his hands up and down her arms. He laid affectionate kisses
on her neck. A frisson of delight drifted through her body. They’d
made love many times through the night. Just an hour before, he’d
had her face first against the wall holding her arms above her head
while he stood behind, thrusting into her quim, bringing her to yet
another soul-shattering climax. “So the words and promises we spoke
of last night in the throes of passion still stand in the light of
day?” he teased as he nipped at her earlobe.

His smiling reflection and touch made it hard
for her to concentrate. “Of course. I have a busy day ahead. Lots
of plans to make. What will your day hold, Rory?”

He stepped back and finished buttoning his
shirt and tucked the tails into his trousers.

“Cian and I are to meet our constables this
morn and receive their report. Then, all of us will follow up on
the gambling hells. We will find this fiend, make no mistake.” The
light, sensual teasing tone of his voice had been replaced with a
fierce determination. She had no doubt whatsoever in Rory’s
abilities.

“You will be back for supper, then?” she
asked.

He put on his waistcoat and adjusted his
watch. “I would not count on it. I will let you know. This is to be
part of our future, Rhiannon. There may be many nights I will not
be home for supper.”

Rea patted her wig, and then faced him. “I am
well aware of the demands on your time as a detective. I will not
be one of those nagging wives.”

He kissed her cheek. “There’s a mercy. By the
way, when we do marry, we may have to look further afield for a
cook.”

“Oh?”

“Last night when I did my sweep of the place,
I caught Cian and Miss Greenwood in the darkened kitchen kissing
quite passionately.”

Caroline? The young woman had never shown the
least inkling of interest in men. What would such an attractive
girl see in a battered, brawny Irishman? She glanced at Rory and
chuckled. Who was she to talk? Another strapping Irishman had
captured her interest—and her heart.

Her amusement disappeared. Cian O’Connor, but
he....

“You’re frowning, love. What’s the matter,
Cian not good enough for the lass?”

“No, it’s not that. You do know he has been
here as a customer a few times?”

Rory shrugged on his coat. “Aye, who
hasn’t?”

How to say this? Perhaps she shouldn’t. While
Cian O’Connor had not been at the brothel in over a year, he had
been a participant in orgies with both sexes. One of her girls had
claimed him insatiable. While he did not have sex with the men, he
indulged in kissing and cock play. No, she would not reveal any of
this to Rory. Never been foolish enough to spill her clients’
secrets. “You are right, who hasn’t? Well, I am surprised. But what
woman can resist a hot-blooded Irishman?”

Rory laughed and pulled her into his embrace.
Oh, she loved how his warmth and strength cloaked her with his
protectiveness. His lips brushed across hers and a low, ragged
groan left his mouth.

“Hell, I’d better be off. Thank the lass for
delicious breakfast. I should collect Cian.”

Rea placed her arms around his neck. “One
kiss?”

“Maybe more than one.”

Cian sat at the kitchen table and sopped up
the softened egg yolk with his toast. Caroline bustled about the
kitchen with quiet efficiency. She lorded over her domain with an
impressive competence. Last night, he had escorted to her room and
as tempted as he was to kick her door in, drag her inside, and make
love to her, he merely gave her a chaste kiss and hightailed it
back to his cot with the most painful erection he’d had in an
age.

His appetites, whether for food, sex, or a
good fight had always ruled his life. The deep-seated anger burning
his guts became a constant reminder of his wretched past. Bah, his
tragic history was no different from anyone else’s. Caroline, no
doubt, had a story or two to tell. He would lay coin that the
occupants and customers of The Blind Cupid had stories of misery
aplenty. He picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. Time to
move beyond past heartbreak and misery. Could Caroline be the woman
he had been waiting for? Good Christ, they’d just met, but the
heart knows, right? Cian picked up his mug and sipped the hot tea.
Why her? Maybe because she stood up to him, her pretty blue eyes
flashing with life and passion. He might have fallen for the lass
when she waved the soup ladle under his nose. He knew for sure when
he touched and kissed her. Caroline braced one hand on his
shoulder, and poured fresh, hot tea into his mug.

“Sergeant Kerrigan may be back for supper
tonight, why don’t you come? We can eat together at this table.”
Her voice was soft with affection. Her touch burned hot through his
shirt. He reached for the hand on his shoulder and nuzzled it next
to his whiskered cheek. Cian rolled it over and laid a passionate
kiss on her palm.

“Aye. Supper,” he murmured.

Caroline sat the teapot on the table and in a
swift motion, gripped his shoulders to turn him to face her.

“I want more than suppers, Cian O’Connor. I
want to be courted properly by a respectable, honorable man.”

Cian clasped her trim waist and pulled her
closer until she stood between his spread legs. Caroline Greenwood,
though a slender lass, possessed ample enough curves to entice
him.