The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(76)

Having her shaking with need beneath him was glorious, but it wasn’t enough. He shouldn’t push his luck. Surely there was a line where, once crossed, she would pull away. He glanced up at her between placing kisses on every bit of skin he could access.

In the next second, any question of lines or pulling away was answered when she shook her arms out of the short sleeves of her dress and returned her hands to his back. Her grasp tightened on him as she arched her body from the bed, seeking more. Her fingers delved under his shirt to pull at his sides. Allowing more of his weight to press down against her, he watched her for a second as confusion, surprise, and pleasure all warred with one another in her eyes.

Dipping his head once more, he pulled her dress down with his mouth. She wore no stays—why would it matter, since she couldn’t leave the room to be seen, in any case? He was glad he hadn’t asked one of his maids to assist her with such things since her lack of undergarments now put her within his reach. Her skin smelled of some flowery concoction that embodied everything about Isabelle—light and fresh yet intoxicating and dramatic. He followed the curve of her body with his lips, allowing his breath to heat her skin as he moved. Moving his hand up her side to cup one breast, he teased the tightened nipple with his fingertip.

“Fal…” she breathed, unable to complete even the one word. Her hands tightened on him in the same second.

He grinned as he swirled his tongue around the peak of her nipple, pulled it into his mouth. He gently dragged his teeth against her, and she bucked her hips into his body. He looked up, wanting to watch the passion in her eyes as she found her release, but he didn’t stop touching her. He ran his mouth across her other breast even as he twitched the nipple he’d just abandoned between two fingers, tugging her over the edge.

She breathed out a harsh breath and clung to him. Her gaze met his for an intense second before her head fell back on the pillows. He peppered kisses over her now pink and heated skin up to her shoulder, and rolled to his back, taking her with him.

“What just happened?” she asked a moment later, laying sprawled across his chest. “Did we—”

“No.” He pulled her closer into his embrace, not wanting to let her go just yet. He was still hard as a rock, but he could ignore the discomfort. “That was only a bit of pleasure.”

“It was… I…” she tried, but her words tapered off.

“Shh.” He slid his hands up and down her spine. “You’re perfect. You don’t have to say anything.”

“My bloodthirsty pirate,” she whispered. “I’m glad you took shore leave with me today.”

“Is that what we’re calling this?” He chuckled.

“You need a first mate, so we might do this more often.”

“A first mate?” She was the only one he needed, no one else. His mind drifted back to the dream of having her to himself in a country cottage. “Perhaps I’m more of a sheep farmer than a pirate after all.”

“No,” she said a moment later as she propped her chin on his chest to look at him. “You’re not a pirate or a sheep farmer. What are you, Fallon? What business keeps you so busy?”

This was it—his opportunity to tell her the truth. Then he would know for sure if she would hate him—once she knew who he really was and the sort of work he was involved in. He opened his mouth, but old habits were difficult to break. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her on the soft bed. “Business is what I should be seeing to. I ought to go.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm before he could move away. “I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face and held her to his chest. “I want to stay. You have no idea how much. But I truly do have things awaiting me. I shouldn’t have stayed this long.”

“It’s already dark outside, and I hear things at night,” she pleaded.

“Isabelle, you’re safe here. No one will attack you while you’re in my company, I promise you that. I protect a great many people, and I’ll protect you.”

“You mean your staff,” she stated, watching him. “You offer protection to your household staff? Is that who I hear at night? Last week there were voices in the hall, and at one point I heard rather boisterous singing. I thought you had houseguests since thieves don’t sing.”

“Hardaway,” Fallon muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“No one will harm you as long as you’re here. You have my word.”

“Even still. Stay with me.”

He sighed and wound his arms farther around her. “A few more minutes.”

“And tonight?”

He had meetings scheduled. At least five of his men would need instruction, or everything he’d built would begin to slip through his fingers. That was how trouble always started—with the shift of a single grain of sand. Before long, one side of a mountain would slide away into the valley below. He contemplated the mountain he’d claimed as his own. Then he tossed aside that metaphorical grain of sand, reached up, and held Isabelle close.

“I’ll stay the night.”





Fifteen


Knottsby,

In response to the note you sent this morning, I must insist that you keep your head clear of this and allow me more time to handle the situation. It isn’t safe for you to make inquiries on your own. Hardaway delivered the copy of the confession letter to me just days ago that was intended for Mr. Jasper at the museum, so there’s no need for you to pry into matters there.