“Raw, scorching, merciless sex. Is that what you want?” she asked. “Give it to me.”
He bent his head and kissed her, fiercely and deeply, his hand grabbing her nape to keep her still. Their tongues tangled, and he ravaged her mouth with his lips and tongue, and she gave back as good as he gave. The kiss became greedy, urgent, as he cupped and kneaded, smoothing his palm over the fabric-cloaked bud of her nipple. The firm ridge of his arousal announced itself, thrusting against her inner thigh. His free hand found her backside and grabbed tight, grinding her pelvis against his.
“Yes.” She sat back and pulled her nightgown off. “Make love to me.”
“I don’t want to make love.” He worked for breath as he pushed down his pajama shorts. “I can’t be gentle right now.”
“Don’t be, then,” she said, inviting him, pressing her body to his. There was a catch in his voice, as if he was warning her. It was important, but it wasn’t something she would dwell upon.
“Right now, what I want is to take. To take you hard and fast and wild enough to light up the whole bloody morning.” He ran the tip of his tongue around her nipple and blew on it.
Her breath caught, and she dipped her fingers in his hair, bringing his head down. “I thought you didn’t want to make love.”
“I doona.” He took her nipple inside his mouth and pulled it with his teeth. Softly, but firmly, drawing a small cry from her. His hand grabbed blindly for the condom on the nightstand, as he moved to the other breast, holding the other nipple with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. He let it go to roll the condom over his erection. Then he stared in her eyes. “I want to fuck you.”
“Fuck . . . me?” She licked her lips, nervously, and then arousal rushed through her. She wanted to experience this new side of him, the fever pitch it stirred in her, but was unable to say the words. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and her tongue laved a path down his throat. Say the words. “I—”
“Fuck you hard and rough—” His fingers lowered and plunged deep inside her without warning. But she was so ready for him that his fingers slipped right in. He was not prepared when she bit down on his shoulder. “Oh! Dammit, Laetitia!”
She raised her head. His eyes met hers. Electricity cracked in the air.
“Are you always so talkative? Take me,” she said, owning the words—owning the wildness that was a part of her, too. She wasn’t merely willing. She was wanting, desperately. “Now.”
Jesus! Hearing those words, his restraint dissolved. He withdrew his fingers and abruptly rolled her over. “On your hands and knees.”
He positioned himself behind her, grabbing her hips and lifting her slightly. She was damp and pink.
She felt his finger pressing, then withdrawing and trailing upward, coated with her essence, then it rimmed her anus.
She gasped and jerked as he pressed.
“Laetitia.” His hands squeezed the globes of her buttocks before moving lower to spread her. He pushed the head of his arousal into her and paused. Just seeing her like this made him pant. “So hot and so wet and so very tight.”
His unexpected hard thrust had her crying out in pleasure.
It was an odd sensation being in such a vulnerable position. Her mind conjured all sorts of naughty images.
In that position he was deeper, could feel her stretching herself more to accommodate him. The sensation was nearly unbearable. With a fierce dig of his hips, he worked deeper still, smoothed a hand over her buttocks, and slapped her hard and sharply.
“Ah!” She was not expecting it. It came as a shock, nearly painful. It sent shivers of intense desire quaking over her body; however, she had no inkling of what she should do. Billions of little stimulating sensations overrode her senses as his hand spanked her. She put herself into his care and gave her trust to him, letting him plunge with abandon, bracing herself on her forearms. She felt his control was hanging by a thread, yet he was keeping himself in check not to hurt her. All she could do was moan. The words got out of her, in questioning gasps, “More? Harder?”
He pressed himself over her, feeling the texture of her soft skin, loving the little sounds of pleasure that escaped her mouth.
Laetitia lowered the upper half of her body onto the bed and tried to reach Tavish’s thighs, but he gripped her wrists in his hand and pulled them over her head. “Just lie still and take it. I’ll take care of us.”
He clung to her. His hips pumped wildly. His arousing words became inarticulate grunts—harsh, snarling sounds that he didn’t know he was capable of.
Their rhythm took on a power of its own—became a force unto itself.
In his arms she was speechless, helpless, heedless, mindless.
She knew nothing but sensation.
Nothing but him.
“Tavish,” she gasped and buckled under him. Every inch of her skin was ablaze in delight, consumed by the sun that burned inside him. When his fingers found her clitoris, pleasure racked her body. Her chest was so tight with longing and emotion that it was hard to breathe. Wisps of sensation gathered in her toes, at the top of her head, and in her fingertips as he slid in and out of her, fast, slow, gentle, hard, keeping her on the brink. Building, building, so high, in a mixed state of prolonged pleasure and agony of unfulfilled desires.
His arm banded steely around her hips, and he fisted her hair, turning her face to kiss her desperately. Even though he only wanted to take, her satisfaction was paramount, more important than his own. “Let it come, Laetitia. Feel it all.”
She gave a helpless, breathless gasp, as ecstasy crashed inside her, opening the floodgates of passion and sweeping her along as she began to shake uncontrollably.
He withdrew and plunged again, in long, hard strokes. Before he could process it, a potent orgasm sucked him under. He gritted his teeth, while the roar of pleasure flooded his body. When he pulled out, he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight, and kissed her over and over as they slowly came back from climax.
She was so beautiful, her white-blonde hair spread on the pillowcase and sheets, her pale skin flushed with passion, her lips swollen and glistening from his kisses. He couldn’t find words to describe how intense his orgasm had been, and he was thoroughly confused by it. This cannot be healthy.
Their fingers intertwined, gazes locked. He nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear, “OK?”
“That was . . . amazing,” she answered, barely forming the words. “I’ll become quite spoiled waking up next to you.”
He held her wrists in his hands and kissed the scars. His voice was raw with emotion. “You have no reason to do this again.”
“Mmm. Why not?” She sighed softly. Then she noticed his expression and scooted back; her heart tightened painfully. She shook her head at him, her throat burned, her eyes filled with unchecked tears. “Oh, my God . . . You can’t possibly be thinking I tried suicide.” She shook her head, sadly. “You know what, Tavish Uilleam? We aren’t going to work well together. I told you I was high maintenance, but you are obviously going to be the same.”
“High maintenance? I am asking for trust, for truthfulness. These marks . . .” His features gave away none of his thoughts, but she’d hurt him. “I thought we had already established we don’t hold important information from each other.”
“All right. Do you want a catalogue of the scars they left on my body? Because if you do, I couldn’t possibly do it. Geoffrey was an expert at torture, and the cult—” She thinned her lips, lest she start to cry and lose her courage. Turning away from him, she pulled her hair to the front.
Tavish rose on an elbow and ran his fingertips over her tattoo, fashioned in sheer subtleness, of lace-patterned wings made of delicate feathers. Done in an unusual ivory-white, it covered her, from her shoulder blades to the small of her back. “And what does this have to do with your wrists?”
“Look closer, where the wings meet, under the small feathers,” she said, then heard his shocked intake of breath, as his fin
gers found an uneven branding mark of an ouroboros.
“Why the bloody hell would someone do this to you?” he asked hoarsely. “What kind of monsters did you live with?”
She craned her neck to gaze into his face. “Humans.”
The Blue Dot
9:48 a.m.
“Good morning,” Tavish said to Alistair and Baptist, who were already waiting for him in his office. He hung his coat and sat in the armchair facing the PI and came directly to the point. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. My brother told me your credentials are impeccable. Yet, I know your fees are . . . expensive.”
Alistair raised his eyebrow at his abruptness but said nothing.
Baptist wasn’t at all intimidated by him. A burly man, he could have easily been a pugilist or a bouncer. His dark hair was cropped short, his eyes were veiled, and his nose had been broken more than once and hadn’t been fixed properly. His polished manners and clothing should have been incongruent with his appearance, but they fit a private investigator. “Mr. MacCraig, my fees aren’t expensive; they are exorbitant. I’m the one you call in times of emergency. I have the right connections in every place and all over the world. I deliver what you need.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m convinced. However, before we begin, I would like to know how much—”
“It has been taken care of,” Alistair said.
“What?”
Alistair motioned for the two files on the side table. “Baptist was already working on her.”
Tavish’s temper flared. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s done,” Alistair replied calmly. “I saved you time.”
Tavish leafed through the files, although he wanted to tear them to shreds. He felt like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole. “There is nothing significant here I didn’t know.”
“I doubt it.” Alistair stroked his jaw. “The new facts, Baptist.”
“Based on the lack of urgency, I was digging slowly, and I didn’t have time to compile all the information in another file due to your urgent request to be here this morning,” Baptist explained.
“A brief verbal summary will suffice for now,” Alistair said.
“So, since she moved into Beardley Manor, she hasn’t had any serious boyfriends. She had gone out a few times with a Matthew Carmichael, but in spite of his clear intentions, they’ve only become friends. Cousin to the baron, he’s brother to her best friend, Elizabeth Carmichael, a therapist, with homosexual tendencies—”
“Do we need this kind of information?” Tavish thinned his lips and looked at Alistair. “Why would I care if this Elizabeth is homosexual, heterosexual, pansexual, or even asexual?”
“Because every piece of information is vital, Tavish Uilleam.”
Baptist outlined a bit more information about the few friends Laetitia had, where they lived, and what they did for a living.
“Useless information,” Tavish said. He was overwhelmed with his urge to keep Laetitia out of danger and at the same time with his principles and morals—boundaries he had crossed only once to save himself. He wasn’t totally sure if he could cross these boundaries in Laetitia’s name without asking her permission. It went against everything he believed in. “Thank ye for coming, but I doona need your services.”
“Brother.”
That word was enough to make Tavish stop and sit back down.
As a CEO and majority shareholder of one of the biggest banks in the UK and other businesses, Alistair wielded a great deal of power. He owed his position entirely to his exceptionally sharp and quick mind, dispassionate observation of strategy, and ability to crush others’ feelings during any business transaction. Very few things moved him beyond his family.
Alistair didn’t need to explicate; the word brother said it all: Tavish was his family. Laetitia wasn’t, until he decided so. And he didn’t care if her feelings were hurt in the process, as long as his brother’s were not.
Those were the times when Tavish had no doubt he hated Alistair. But he couldn’t deny he was cut from the same cloth; they protected what they loved, fiercely. He had asked for Alistair’s interference, so he would have to deal with it the best way he could and extract from it the help he needed.
“You asked for help.” Alistair then looked at Baptist and asked calmly, “Did you find out anything about her branding?”
“What!” Tavish exploded from the armchair. “What did you say?”
“I know about her burn, tattoo, ears. She was a contract.”
“She is a human being,” Tavish spat.
“Nae,” Alistair shook his head. “She was business.”
Tavish’s nostrils flared. “Sometimes you nauseate me, Alistair Connor.”
“Sophia agrees with you,” his brother answered, noncommittally. “So, the branding?”
“Sorry, Mr. MacCraig. The tattooer who did the wings knows nothing about it.” He looked at Tavish. “Perhaps, if a close-up is provided . . .”
“Fuck. You. Both.”
“The woman is being threatened; you’re going out with her.” Alistair stared at Tavish. “You have two choices. Cooperate. Or don’t.”
Tavish’s head was filled with unanswered questions and plausible scenarios; however, there was nothing in his power to discover what was happening without the help of a professional. He had been in the military for long enough to know there was no such thing as a team of one man. “If I decide to withhold the information I have . . .”
“You’ll only make my work more difficult. It will be much easier if I have access to the mobile calls, places, and whatever other information she told you. Even personal things,” said Baptist. “I offer no guarantees on hiring my services, but your brother will vouch for me. Yet, one thing I can guarantee: there’ll be occupational hazards. When one stirs up the muck on the bottom of a swamp, old skeletons will surface.”
Jesus fucking Christ! “Laetitia’s life is not a swamp.” But it does have skeletons. Tavish balled his fists. “I’m not asking for you to uncover her life or dig up any skeletons. Just to discover who is trying to hurt her.”
“You aren’t ready for my services, Lieutenant Colonel.” Baptist shook his head. “One who hides like she does has skeletons in the closet. In this profession of mine, we are as ethical as possible—”
“Ethical,” Tavish snorted. “So ethical that you had already started an investigation on my girlfriend and the sexual preferences of her friend under the orders of my brother.”
“If I liked to gossip, half of London would be doomed, Mr. MacCraig.” Baptist didn’t even so much as flinch. “There is no such thing as morality in stalking a person and uncovering past issues they want to keep buried. We’re intruding in others’ lives.” There was a dark amusement in his black eyes. “Other than that, rules exist to be broken. And I’ll go as far and as deep as I deem necessary until I find the data you need.”
“Do you collaborate with the police? Or the government?”
“What kind of question is that, Tavish Uilleam?”
“No, sir.” Baptist was now intrigued. “My only priority is my clients’ satisfaction and privacy.”
Tavish closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, already regretting having asked for the PI’s help. Contemplating his options and the consequences of his actions, if Laetitia ever discovered what he was about to do, he hoped she’d understand that it had been done with the best intentions and to protect her. He hesitated but for a split second.
“Laetitia, she is using the name of a dead woman.” Tavish dipped his hand in his inner jacket pocket and fished out an iPhone. “Her mobile. You can use the meeting room to transfer the data to your computer. We’ll discuss the other details when you are done.”
The two men looked at him as if he were mad, and they both started talking at the same time. Tavish raised a hand, opened the door, and motioned to Baptist, “After you’re done, Baptist.”
“Jesus, Mary, an
d Joseph. With whom are you involved, Tavish Uilleam?” Alistair whispered. “It’s not easy to shock me.”
“Understatement of the millennium,” Tavish muttered, and sat in his armchair, to retell to his brother what he’d been told by Laetitia.
Nothing and no one else seemed to matter but Laetitia.
His life had become very, very complicated.
CHAPTER 31
Beardley Lodge
4:02 p.m.
With a long sigh, Laetitia stepped away and peered up at the painting.
The play of light and shadow were almost shocking in their intensity; the reds looked like they could come right out of the canvas. Her gaze settled on the couple having sex in a pool. With even more care than she normally handled them, she lifted the canvas from the easel, carried it across the room, and hung it.
Baron Beardley had called in the morning, offering his congratulations and informing her she was officially on vacation for as long as she needed. With Elizabeth’s help she had packed her best outfits and called Tavish to let him know she was ready to go. Then she worked on another painting for the series on the baroness, and time had flown.
Deciding that she had been cloistered enough for the day, she took a long shower and changed her clothes.
Straddling a low, broken wall of a ruined castle, Laetitia looked out at the surrounding woods, listening to the sounds of birds chirping and squirrels scampering among the tree branches.
She closed her eyes with a sigh and rested her back on the taller part of the wall.
Nothing in her life had ever gone as she had intended or fantasized. Until Tavish had entered her life like a hurricane and used his obviously vast experience to get under her carefully constructed defenses.