The Devil's Thief, page 10
He grabbed her arm suddenly and spun her to face him. He was standing so close that her breasts brushed his chest. Her nipples tightened painfully and her heartbeat, which had only just begun to slow down, raced again. But it wasn’t fear that caused her reaction, it was desire. She still desired him despite everything. Well, she was a greater fool than she’d ever imagined, then. That was disheartening.
“The Stewart Pearl has been in my family for generations, Miss Harte. Being custodian of the pearl is an honor and a duty, and one I take very seriously. I want that pearl, and I am willing to do whatever I must to get it back.”
“You may take the responsibility seriously, Mr. Sharp, but you do not carry out the duties faithfully,” she said breathlessly. “Offering the pearl to women for sexual favors is not the prescribed custodial behavior, I’d wager.”
He cursed under his breath. “Who?” he demanded, shaking her roughly. “Who did you give it to? Another lover?”
Julianna was enraged. “Another lover? You fool! You took my virginity just two days ago! Do you think I found it such a magical experience, I rushed out and bought the first man I could find with your precious pearl?”
“Yes,” he challenged, yanking her flush against him. “I know you enjoyed every moment of our night together, Juliet. You may lie to yourself, but I won’t believe that you did not relish the night that I gave you.”
“You bastard,” she said venomously. “Fine. Yes, I went out and bought another man, and I enjoyed him even more.”
She went to hit him with her empty glass, but he pulled it from her hand and threw it to the floor, where the heavy crystal bounced and rolled on the carpet. When she tried to break away from him, Alasdair wrestled her arm behind her back and grabbed the hair on the back of her head, holding her stiffly in his arms. She glared at him, and he glared right back. His face was tight with anger. “Well I can’t buy another fuck, can I?” he snarled. “I already gave everything for the right to fuck you.”
His mouth crashed down on hers and Julianna fought him, but he was stronger, and he was angry, and he felt so horribly wonderful against her that her heart wasn’t truly in the fight. When he thrust his tongue against her closed lips, she opened them without hesitation, let him inside to do what he wanted, to have his revenge. If this was her punishment, she’d gladly take it. She’d been starving for him for the past two days. How was it possible to need someone so much in such a short time?
Alasdair growled and Julianna refused to be the passive object of his anger. She wanted him, but not like this. Never like this. She had one free hand and she buried it in his hair and grabbed a handful, yanking his head back. He cursed her, and his hand tightened in her hair. “Do you want me?” she asked, her voice rough with desire, but also fear. What if he said no? What if this was all about anger and not about her at all?
He jerked his head and Julianna held on. She watched him intently, letting him see her desire. Slowly his hand loosened in her hair and he cupped the back of her head. His eyes were still hot, there was still anger in the lines of his face, but he gentled his hold and released her arm while still keeping his arm about her. “Yes, dammit,” he whispered. “God help me, but I still want you.”
Julianna didn’t need any more encouragement. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. She groaned as she thrust her tongue in his mouth and he sucked it in and slashed his lips across hers, seeking a deeper connection. They battled for control of the kiss as they’d battled a few moments earlier, but this time Julianna let him have his victory. She was still too new to this. She didn’t know how to go on.
He was holding her so tightly she was amazed she could still breathe, and she loved it. She wiggled her hips and he pulled her in closer, shoving one leg between hers and pressing his well-muscled thigh against her mound, and a delicious frisson of sexual awareness shivered down her spine and settled in her sex, vibrating there.
His hands began to roam wildly along her back and hips. One hand cupped her neck briefly, then ran down her back to squeeze her buttock as he thrust against her. He groaned and Julianna whimpered. How she wanted him! Her desire for him was all consuming. Nothing mattered but having him, right here and now. He yanked his hands around to cover her breasts, squeezing them before pinching her nipples through the cloth, and Julianna felt her insides quiver at the rough caress.
She broke away from his kiss, gasping for air, desperate to have him inside her. “Alasdair!” she cried out, and he pulled her close again, whispering, “Shhh! Quiet. Do not bring the house down upon us.”
She shook her head violently. No, no she didn’t want that. She didn’t want anyone to burst through the door and pull them apart.
Alasdair grinned wickedly as he reached around her and swept his arm across the surface of the large desk behind them, knocking papers and an inkwell to the floor, revealing the gleaming wood beneath. Julianna’s heart was beating so hard with excitement it was trying to escape her chest. This was carnality, she decided. This was lust, a kind of fever of insanity that could be cured only by rutting like animals. She wanted to howl at the moon. Instead she laughed and grabbed Alasdair around the neck as he lifted her onto the desk, his hands rough on her hips.
“Oh, you want it, don’t you, little thief?” Alasdair spoke roughly, yanking her skirt and petticoat up, forcing Julianna to wrap her legs around his waist as she lifted her bottom up so he could shove the skirts all the way up. They pooled around her hips and she sucked in a shocked breath as the cool wood of the desk hit her bare bottom. He thrust his hips and she could feel his hard length pressing against her through his breeches. She moaned, and Alasdair laughed with a low, wild, aroused sound.
“You want it, too,” she whispered huskily, pulling him down and kissing his neck above his cravat. She licked a path to the delicate hollow behind his ear and then she bit his earlobe, hard. He tasted so good, better than anything she’d ever consumed.
He sucked in a breath and let it out in a growl as he ground against her. “Yes, damn you, you little cat. I want it. I want you.” He grabbed her wrists and tugged her arms away from his neck, but not without a struggle. She didn’t want to let him go. He eased her down so that her back was on the desk and he fumbled with the front of his breeches before pushing them down and she saw him, hard and beautiful, reaching out for her.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask permission. He just took her. He pinned her wrists to the desk above her head with one hand and slid the first inch of his hard length inside her. She arched her neck with pleasure. Before she could say a word, he thrust the rest of the way into her. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at how good it felt to have him there again.
“Yes,” he hissed, and she wasn’t sure if he was pleased by her reaction, if he shared her pleasure, or both. She hoped both. He settled his hips snuggly against her, rocking inside her, making her moan. Then he laced his fingers through hers and pressed their hands over her head against the desk. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered harshly into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you hard, Juliet, and I don’t want anyone to hear us. Do you understand? You’re to lie there and take what I give you and you’re going to like it.” She nodded her acquiescence.
He pulled back, but not out. She bit back another whimper and raised her hips, seeking him, begging silently for the connection she craved. He didn’t slam into her as he had done at first, but it was a firm, hard thrust, seating himself deep. And then he did it again, and yet again in an excruciatingly slow rhythm. And Julianna knew this was her punishment, this dizzying, unsatisfying, wildly arousing coupling.
He held her down, his cheek pressed against hers, his breath fanning the hair at her temple, his heartbeat pounding against her chest. She could hear the sounds of his advance and retreat inside her, the slap of his flesh on hers. It was maddening and the most wonderful thing imaginable. She turned her head, pressing her cheek harder against his, his hair a ghostly kiss upon her lips, holding his hands so tightly she knew her nails were scoring the backs. She fought her moans, her cries of delight. This she could give him, her absolute obedience and her complete surrender. She gripped him tighter about the waist with her legs, pressed her sex hard against him with each thrust, open and wanting and his. His thrusts became harder, deeper, and she could hardly breathe for wanting to scream at the exquisite torture. He stretched her arms over her head as far as they would go without releasing her hands, and the movement lengthened his body over hers, changing the angle of his penetration. That was when she lost her control—she sobbed once as the pleasure overcame her and she quaked under him, holding him tight between her legs as the spasms of release racked her body.
When it was over she felt weak, and each thrust shot an almost painful pleasure deep within her. She closed her eyes and took it, took what he gave her.
“Oh, no, little thief,” he growled. He stopped and pulled out, and her eyes flew open, disappointment and an almost desperate panic seizing her. Not yet. He couldn’t be done yet. She wanted more, needed more. He drew back and broke her hold, and she was cold and bereft until she looked into his eyes. They still held a blazing heat that told her that the night was far from over.
“Get on the desk.” It took her a moment to understand what he wanted. He grasped her hips and urged her backward, and she scrambled to pull her feet up onto the surface.
“On your knees,” he growled. His eyes were more aroused than angry, which reassured her. Alasdair climbed on the desk behind her, his shaft still long and hard. The sight should not have aroused her so, should it? But it did. She loved seeing the evidence of his desire for her. She’d missed this in the dark the other night. She hadn’t realized how much better it would be in the light. “You need to kneel on the desk,” he told her, speaking slowly, each word sharp and clear. “Can you do that?” He helped her to her knees with a hand under her elbow. “Turn around.”
His commands were short and brooked no refusal. Awkwardly she turned around so that her back was to him, still on her knees, still on the desk. “Put your hands on the desk.” She did as he asked, trepidation and arousal fighting each other inside her.
“Pull your skirts up,” he rasped, and she realized he was as affected as her. Julianna’s fear dissipated and she reached back with one hand and yanked her skirts up around her waist. She blushed as she realized that he must be able to see her as clearly in the light as she could see him. She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable. She placed her hand back on the desk and waited for whatever was to come.
He spread her legs wider when he moved between them, not roughly but with an urgency that excited her, pushing her lower with a hand on the back of her neck. “You make me feel like a beast,” he said. He thrust into her then, and Julianna shivered at the penetration. She seemed to be even more sensitive to his touch now, and he knew it, too. It was exquisite torture, and she loved every minute of it.
Each thrust rubbed his chest against her back, his thighs against hers, and her muscles clenched in pleasure at the contact. She spread her legs wider and pressed her hot cheek against the cool wood of the desk. He took her offering, pressing into her hard and deep. She was made for him, made to feel this way—this full, this pleasured. She wanted nothing more than to give herself to him and let him use her and fill her. She was filled with a wild, mad lust and she reveled in it.
There was no tenderness, no consideration, and she didn’t care. She peaked again, relishing the way he made her feel. It all felt good, the wanton feel of being on the desk, in the library—fully clothed with her skirts tossed up—knowing anyone could walk in and see her like this with Alasdair. But it was perfect because it was Alasdair. Because she’d lived in despair for two days thinking she’d never see him again, never have him again.
“Damn you, Juli,” he groaned. “Damn you.” He pulled out even as she shuddered and he yanked her up and turned her around to face him, handling her like a rag doll. He pulled her close and she somehow managed to straddle his lap and then he was inside her again, his face buried in her neck, and she held him close, almost soothing him with a hand in his hair, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Then his mouth was on hers and they were frantically thrusting against each other.
His arm was wrapped around her waist tightly and he pressed his lips to her ear. She thought he meant to say something, but he only wrapped his other arm about her. She lost herself in her desire for him. She was no longer content to take, but determined to give. She pressed her knees against the desk and rode him roughly, not really sure what she was doing, and he cried out, a broken, rough sound muffled against her ear. He began to shake, and she felt the heat of his release inside her. It made her clench onto him in pleasure, her cry mingling with the echo of his.
* * *
As soon as he could think, Alasdair cursed himself for a fool. She’d done it to him again, hadn’t she? Used her body to numb his mind. She had offered herself and made him believe she wanted him. He’d taken her, and in the process he’d once again lost himself. But he damned well wasn’t going to let her sneak out of here like she had the other night, slipping away with the most valuable treasure he had owned. He had her now, and she would tell him where his pearl was. Their coupling had been wild and regrettable. But he’d needed to get her out of his system. Now he could get down to the business of wresting the truth from her.
Stiffly he pulled out of her. She was so bloody hot and tight. He gritted his teeth to keep from moaning at how painfully good every movement inside her felt. Instead she moaned, and he smiled grimly with satisfaction. Oh, yes, she had enjoyed it immensely, too. He knew, quite immodestly, that no other man could give her better.
He pulled her arms from around his neck and pushed her away, until he could scoot out from underneath her. Refusing to look at her, he climbed down off the desk and busied himself with rearranging his clothing.
“Alasdair?” she asked huskily.
There was a certain innocent hesitation in her voice that made him feel like a back-alley seducer. Damn her! How did she do it? He was not the one who should feel guilty. He glanced over at her on the desk, annoyed. What he saw made him seriously think about undoing his trousers again.
She was leaning back on her hands, still on her knees, her legs spread, her skirts up around her hips. Her sex was framed by soft white thighs, white muslin petticoats, and the dark walnut of the desk. It was quite possibly the most irresistible thing he’d ever seen. But resist it he must.
“Get dressed,” he ordered harshly, and she sucked in a surprised gasp. Then she yanked her skirts down and covered herself, and Alasdair could breathe again. She climbed awkwardly off the desk and he didn’t offer to help. If he touched her he had no idea what might happen, but he knew for a fact it wouldn’t be her fault.
When she was standing in front of the desk smoothing her hair, and trying to smooth her skirts, which were well beyond repair, he went on the attack. “I’ll ask you again, where is the pearl?”
She paused with her hand halfway to her hair and he noticed that it was shaking. Why was she afraid to tell him?
“It’s in a safe place.” Her cool response belied the tremble of her hand. He was disgustingly satisfied when he realized she was still affected by their joining.
“Where is this safe place?” he demanded.
She shook her skirts out and then leaned over and ran her hands up her legs one at a time, smoothing her stockings. He waited impatiently for her answer.
“Here in London,” was her vague reply.
“Dammit, Juliet—,” he began, but she spun her head quickly to glare at him and cut him off.
“My name is Julianna.” She took a deep breath, clearly trying to control her temper.
“A thief by any other name is just as deceitful,” he threw at her.
He refused to believe that it was hurt he saw in her eyes. She turned away from him and said, “You may call me Miss Harte,” her voice trembling with anger.
“I just fucked you like an animal on a desk, Miss Harte,” he said. “I believe we are beyond social pleasantries.”
“I am beginning to think you were beyond them before I met you,” she shot back. “And whether or not I allow you to touch me has nothing to do with the pearl.”
His anger boiled over again. “I bought your body with my pearl,” he ground out. “And I will expect you to make yourself available whenever I want you until I tire of you.” She gasped in outrage. “And if that is unpalatable to you, I suggest you give me back my bloody pearl.”
“How dare you!” she whispered vehemently. “I am not some whore you bought on the street, Mr. Sharp. We had a bargain, for one night only. My obligation is at an end. As is this conversation.”
She tried to walk past him haughtily but he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his side. She turned her head away, refusing to look at him, and he put his mouth right next to her ear so she wouldn’t miss a word. “I own you as long as I know your secrets, Julianna,” he whispered coldly. “And if you do not produce my pearl within the next two days, everyone else will know them as well.”
She finally turned to look at him, disdain written plainly on her face. “Well, then, you’ll have lost the weapon you need, won’t you?” With those words she tugged her arm free and walked out of the library.
* * *
Two hours later Alasdair was still in the library. As soon as Juliet—no, Julianna. Miss Harte. As soon as Miss Harte had walked out, he’d found Roger’s decanter of whiskey and started drinking. He was determined to drown the memory of her coming for him tonight, the memory of her sweet bottom thrust up in the air so trustingly.
He hadn’t meant to ravish her. But he had been so relieved to see her again, so relieved to have the pearl within his grasp. She’d angered him with her refusal to relinquish it, and his blood had heated to boiling. Then his body had taken over. And she’d responded to him. He couldn’t resist her. No man would have been able to resist her, willing and eager in his arms, no matter that her lovemaking was still unpracticed. She was the very epitome of temptation.
