Deamon's Daughter Part 12

"Oh, Adrian." She covered her mouth. Gratified as she was by his defense, she didn't want to cost him his job. "Maybe you should go after him."

He shook his head.

"But if he knew you weren't planning to see me againa"

"No." He tossed his napkin to the side of his plate, the motion like the period at the end of a long debate.

She knew he wouldn't discuss the matter further.

Chapter 14.

"Save me! Save me!" Princess Hyacinth cried, her soft pink bosom heaving with distress.

The demon peered coolly down at her, his pale eyes glowing like chips of ice in the murky dark. His long demon hands were pincers on her wrists. "No one can save you," he saida or perhaps promised. "I have slain your prince. Even now, he lies bleeding in yon alley."

a"The Perils of the Princess, as serialized in the Ill.u.s.trated Times Adrian escorted Roxie home despite her insistence that she could manage on her own. After the way Atkinson had treated her, he wasn't about to forego this courtesy.

"Nonsense," he said, two fingers summoning the nearest cab. A s.h.i.+ny black affair rattled over, with a loudly buzzing engine in front and an old-fas.h.i.+oned six-seater coach in back. "It's common politeness to see a lady home."

"But you just broke off with me."

"Nonetheless."

He handed her up, gave their direction to the grizzled cabbie, then climbed into the swaying carriage himself. The black leather interior smelled pleasantly of pipe smoke and leaves. Roxanne sat kitty-corner from him on the opposite banquette. Silhouetted against the black in her fancy yellow dress, she looked a picture of elegance. Aloof. Unconquered. He still hadn't shaken off the web she'd spun at dinner.

A woman's mouth is soft and warma I know I'd like to taste you.

She couldn't have known she'd resurrected his oldest fantasy, the one he'd stroke himself to late at night, the one he'd never dared ask any lover to enact. Roxanne spoke as if it were a treat Excitement pumped through his veins at the thought of her enjoying the experience with him: her, not some shadow figure, but a woman he l.u.s.ted after anda"truth be tolda"respected. Under the double prod, his s.e.x began to lift.

He wished he had the freedom to accept her challenge. Too bad tonight's fiasco with Atkinson proved how poorly Adrian exercised discretion. He'd had to take her to Astoria House, hadn't he? Because he couldn't resist showing off. He'd thought the only risk was being spotted by his brother-in-lawa"a slim one, given the demands of Gaspar's duties. Instead, they'd run into the one person he could least afford to see.

And Atkinson had belittled Roxie. That he regretted most of all.

Roxie deserved better. She was a talented artist, an independent, warm-hearted woman. Much as he admired Atkinson, Adrian knew his family connections had helped him get where he was. Adrian doubted the superintendent would have made as much of himself in Roxie's shoes. It's a backward world, he thought, when befriending someone like Roxie is considered anything less than a privilege.

As they traded seaside for city, she faded in and out of darkness with the pa.s.sing street lamps. Adrian watched her, helpless not to, savoring her full pink lips, the glitter of her golden lashes, her wonderful freckles like a sprinkling of paprika in a bowl of cream. He'd missed her face. He hadn't known how much until he saw her gliding down the stairs in that hourgla.s.s dress. She was so lovely. Could this truly be the last time he'd see her?

He sighed. The sound broke her stillness. Sacrificing propriety for comfort, she swung her legs onto the seat next to him and crossed her arms beneath her wrap.

"I know rank hath its privileges," she said, "but why is your superior ent.i.tled to squire whomever he pleases to the Astoria? And don't tell me that woman was his wife. Or does adultery not matter as long as she's a well-born woman of low morals? A widow, maybe." She tossed her head. "That always seems to put the Queen's seal on things."

Recalling his own occasional dalliance with the type, Adrian s.h.i.+fted on the seat. "That woman was his wife's sister, I believe."

Roxie snorted. "Well, that's convenient. Keep it all in the family."

"It could be perfectly innocent."

"I'm sure." She resettled the wrap around her shoulders and cut him a speculative look. "You know, Adrian, if you weren't so principled, you could write your ticket with that man."

"You don't really mean that."

Her lips pursed in tandem with her shrug. "Don't I?"

The question disturbed him. It suggested she'd compromised a few morals herself along the way and didn't care tuppence what he thought of it. "Roxannea""

"No, no." Her hair stirred in the breeze her gloved hand raised by waving. "You're right. What's a scruple worth if you heave it overboard at the first sign of bad weather?"

He squeezed her knee to get her attention. "You are not unscrupulous. You've done what you had to in order to live. I'm certain you don't truly want me to blackmail Atkinson."

She rolled her eyes at him, then shoved the door open as the carriage ground to a halt in front of her building. "Oh, look. Here we are."

Too stubborn to drop the argument, he climbed out after her, shoved a few notes at the driver, and let the man rattle off.

Roxie tipped her head at the disappearing cab. "You're losing your ride."

Her heels were planted like stakes on the herringbone brick of the pavementa"a less than welcoming pose.

"I'm not leaving until we settle this," he said.

"Fine. I'm not unscrupulous, or a bad woman, or any of the other awful traits your hypocritical employer would like to ascribe to me. There." She spread her arms on either side of her lightly bustled hips. "Now you can go."

He scrubbed his hair in exasperation. He didn't want to go. He knew he ought to. She had him so tied in knots, he couldn't take a step in any direction without tripping. "I was hoping you'd invite me in," he said, though he knew it wasn't wise. "Just for tonight."

"Why not?" she said, clearly meaning the opposite. "The damage is done, running into your superintendent and all. Might as well collect what you're sure to be asked to pay for. Just for tonight. Why should I mind that you handed me my walking papers? A good time is a good time, right?"

"I thought we could talk."

"Talk!" She closed the distance between them with three quick steps, her heels striking the bricks like flint. "Talk," she repeated, in a different, softer voice. Her gloves slid behind his neck, the cotton smooth and warm. She leaned closer. Her lips brushed his ear. He s.h.i.+vered, despite the wave of heat crawling up his thighs. "Talk like we did at the restaurant?"

He was hard as stone, so hard his c.o.c.k seemed like a separate ent.i.ty.

"Maybe," he whispered.

Roxie backed off a few inches and wagged her gloved finger. "But you don't know how to play that game, do you? So I don't see how it could be worth my while." She tilted her head to the side, her eyes hooded as she appeared to consider his prospects. In spite of everything, excitement jumped inside him as her gaze lingered on the bulge pus.h.i.+ng out the front of his trousers. "But perhaps you believe you could bring yourself up to snuff?"

He caught his breath in indignation.

"Is that a 'no'?" she asked with brittle flippancy. "Fine, then. It's been nice knowing you, Inspector Philips."

She spun away, but he grabbed her arm.

"Don't do this," he said to the back of her neck, unable to miss her trembling. "Don't let it end this way."

"How would you like it to end? With one last meaningful f.u.c.k? At least if I hate youa"" her breath hitched in her throat"a"I'll get over you sooner."

"Oh, sweetheart." With a wrench to his emotions, he realized she was crying. Before she could stop him, he bundled her up the stairs and into the vestibule, dimly lit by the s.h.i.+p's lantern four floors above their heads. She beat weakly at his shoulders as she cried, her head burrowing into the crook of his neck while he stroked her through her wrap and murmured meaningless endearments.

"I'm sorry, Roxie." He kissed the crisp, orange-scented waves of her hair. "Atkinson isn't fit to lick your boots. Neither am I."

She laughed damply into his neck, a small sign of life. "Don't go overboard. You don't know everything there is to know about me."

His heart melted with relief as her arms came shyly around his back. "I am a professional investigator. I might know more about you than you think."

"Goodness, that makes me feel better." She took the handkerchief he offered and blew into it. When she finished, he teased a single, tiny eyelash off her tear-stained cheek. The tip of her nose was red. The sight stirred a devastating tenderness, worse than when his little sisters had laid their heartbreaks on his knee.

You're in trouble, he thought. You should leave before it's too late. He ignored the warning. Instead, he pressed his lips to the heated skin of her temple.

She squirmed in his a.n.u.s and stretched, a delicious readjustment of their fit. "Adrian?"

"Mmn?" He kissed her eyebrow, then ran the tip of his tongue around the strong curve of bone beneath.

"Do you still want to come up?"

He pulled back slightly, his heart abruptly pounding. "Do you want me to?"

When she bit her lower lip, he wanted to bite it, too.

"What if I promise to make it worth your while?" he said coaxingly.

She blushed. "I didn't really mean that about you not knowing how to play the game. You're very good in bed."

"That doesn't mean I know everything."

Easing his heavy coat aside, she smoothed his lapels. Sensation blossomed at her touch, ripples of tingling pleasure. His sudden breath lifted her hands. "n.o.body knows everything. The trick is not to be afraid."

He smiled at the top of her lowered head. "Ah, so that's the trick."

"Absolutely." His stomach tightened as her touch slid lower. "You need to be with someone you care about. To know they want you. To know they trust you, and that you'd never do anything to hurt them." She released the single b.u.t.ton of his dress jacket. "It makes you dare anything." Her thumbs converged beneath his waistcoat, meeting at his navel, precariously close to the straining jut of his erection. "You do things you wouldn't do with anyone else."

"Really?" He stilled her hands so he could think straight Her eyes lifted, their color ghostly in the muted light. "So, the things you were talking about at dinner, you've never actually done them?"

"As long as we trust each other, what does it matter?"

His gaze traced the teasing curve of her smile. He could hardly express how arousing he found the possibility. To be the first man she shared that intimacy with made him ache with desire.

"I trust you, Roxie," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I'm pretty sure you want me. And I probably care about you more than is good for either of us."

Her smile deepened at his ragged tone. "Is this leading up to something?"

"Are you up for a little game?"

Her eyes glittered with sudden wistfulness. "One last game?"

"I'm sorry. I wish I could offer more."

Her sigh was silent, a movement of her chest against his.

"You're right," she finally whispered. "We shouldn't end this with a fight."

They walked upstairs like sweethearts, fingers laced, arms swinging. Her eyes fed on the sight of him beside her, storing it away. He was the one who saw the ungainly brown-paper package sitting by the door.

Roxie read the card while Adrian carefully unstuck the wrappings.

A small token of my esteema"yr F, it said in bold black script.

Her "F" indeed. She cursed Herrington for reminding her of his existence.

"It's a rosebush," Adrian said, examining the potted stick. "At least according to the label. It claims it's going to be a Coral Ghost."

Herrington was a fox alright. A bouquet she could have trashed without a qualm, but a living rose, a gardener like her had no choice but to nurture.

Adrian looked up from his crouch. "Who sent it?"

"A secret admirer," she growled. The shadow of alarm that crossed his face was almost worth her father's intrusion.

They stowed the plant in a warm corner, stuck their heads in the boys' room to ensure all was well, then crept down the back stairs. They took turns in the bathroom, the tension rising with each completed task. By the time Roxie finished freshening up, a small, hot fruit seemed to have taken up residence between her legs. She needed it seen to immediately.

She found Adrian lounging like a pasha on her bed, majestically naked, his back supported by a stack of snowy pillows. He'd pulled the shades. All the electric lights were on. The fire crackled merrily. Bright. Warm. Safe. The perfect atmosphere for lovers' games. Needing no encouragement beyond antic.i.p.ation, his c.o.c.k thrust high and straight from the nest of hair at his groin. Her blood pulsed at the inspiring spectacle. He'd missed her, to be sure.

From the coverlet beside his hip he lifted her long yellow gloves. "Take off that s.h.i.+ft. I don't want you wearing anything but these."

She blinked. Adrian didn't sound like himself, even accounting for the edge two weeks of stored-up arousal must have honed. He wasn't asking. He was ordering.

"Has the game started?" She slipped one muslin strap off her shoulder, then the other.

He didn't answer, just watched as she peeled herself bare for him. She wore the white eyelet nightgown she'd had on when they first met. She wasn't sure why she chose it. It was her oldest, not her prettiest. His c.o.c.k bobbed in approval as she s.h.i.+mmied the cloth past her hips. Her skin heated at the silent compliment. She kicked the s.h.i.+ft away.

"Come here," he said, holding out the gloves. Again, she was struck by the authority in his voice. Did he think this would be his last chance to live out his fantasies? If so, it seemed he did not intend to waste the opportunity.

She pulled on the gloves, determined to give him what he asked. In this case, obedience held a wealth of power.

"Do you like it?" She skimmed the daffodil-colored gloves down her naked sides.

"I'll tell you what I'd like." The words were nearly inaudible. "I'd like you to make me ready with your mouth."

She smiled at his erection, its girth grown large, its head vibrating with the force of the blood pounding beneath. She'd started something at dinner. Now he wanted her to finish it. "You look ready to me."

"Don't question me." The soft reprimand stung like a velvet lash. Her knees weakened unexpectedly. "I asked you to do as I said. Now, up on the bed on your hands and knees. No, the other way. I want to see how much you like what you're doing. I want to watch the juice drip down from your little quim."

Hiding a grin, she moved as enticingly as possible into position. Adrian talked dirty just fine once he got warmed up.

"Good," he praised. "Now arch your back."