Gorgeous As Sin

Chapter 24

FITZ LEFT ROSALIND’S apartment early the next morning. Throughout the day, Rosalind half hoped he’d stop by again, even though she realized the folly in harboring such expectations from a man who viewed women as amusements. At times, relatively tender amusements as he’d indicated last night, but she knew better than to anticipate any permanent interest. Her life had been too challenging to put much store in silver-lining fantasies. And despite Mrs. Beecham’s comment about dukes marrying beneath them, she was not about to take complete leave of her senses in that regard.

While Rosalind was reminding herself not to lose sight of reason when it came to Fitz’s charming ways-sexual and otherwise-Fitz was doing his very best not to think of Rosalind at all. He refused to yield to what he considered uncontrollable urges today. It was a matter of principle.

He actually escorted his mother to a luncheon that day, followed by a short musical recital. Not short enough in his estimation, but then with plenty of brandy he managed to survive the performance without losing his good humor.

In fact, on the carriage ride back to Groveland House, Julia said, “You seem in fine fettle today, darling. Even playing cavalier to me without so much as a grumble.” She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “To what do I owe this pleasure? ”

He was lounging back on the seat opposite her, the carriage top down on the warm afternoon, his gaze half-lidded against the sun. “I haven’t seen much of you since you arrived. I thought I’d do my filial duty.”

“Why today? ”

He laughed. “Don’t look at me with such suspicion. You’d think I never accompany you anywhere.”

“You don’t.”

“I do when you ask me.” He lifted his brows. “The Turner exhibit, for instance.”

“You left me there. Along with Miss Nesbit.”

“If you’re going to quibble with me,” he drawled, amusement in his gaze, “I won’t ask you where we’re going next.”

She looked at him as she had when he was young and trying to keep something from her. “Are you sick, darling? You can tell me.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not sick, Mother. I’m in excellent health.”

“You were out all night.”

“I’m out most nights.”

“That’s true,” she agreed, experiencing some relief. “I thank you then for your company, although you have to admit, darling, you don’t often escort me to luncheon.”

“I was just in the mood today.”

“If you say so.” She wasn’t convinced.

“I do.” Then he took out a flask from his coat pocket, uncorked it, and drank a long draught.

It must be that woman, Julia thought with a mother’s instinct. “I was planning on going to Charlotte’s tea next if you’re looking for something to do.”

He groaned. “Good God, Mother, why do you bother with that self-righteous prude? ”

“If you must know, Kemal will be there. Charlotte’s husband is in the Ministry of Trade, and he and Kemal are discussing something or other,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“If Kemal’s there, you won’t need me.” Being dutiful had its limits and Charlotte Dalton was his. He couldn’t stomach the woman; she thought she could entice him as a suitor by slyly calling attention to her daughter’s virginity.

His mother smiled, well aware of Charlotte’s crude presumption. “You could just tell Charlotte you can’t abide virgins.”

“I believe I have in every possible way short of gross discourtesy, Mother. She is completely obtuse and oblivious to the fact that virgins went the way of sailing ships.”

“I believe there are still a few.”

He offered her a jaundiced look. “If they’re very plain.” At which point a picture of the splendid Mrs. St. Vincent sprang into his mind in not so subtle contrast. “I’ll get off at Brooks’s,” he abruptly said and swivelling around gave instructions to the driver. “You don’t need me with Kemal for company, do you? ”

“No, of course not.” Julia scrutinized her son, taking note of his sudden discomfort. “If you need anything or if you wish for entertainment tonight, Kemal and I are dining with Derby.”

Fitz looked up, his flask halfway to his mouth. “Thank you, but I’ll find some entertainment of my own.” Raising the flask to his mouth, he drained it.

“Do you have plans to go to Green Grove anytime soon?” Fitz normally went grouse hunting in August or rusticated in the country.

“I’m not sure. What about you? ”

“We might drive out next week,” Julia said.

“I’ll come along if I can,” he lied. It wasn’t that he disliked Kemal; he just preferred not seeing Kemal play husband to his mother when the man already had four wives. A son’s protective impulse perhaps, but there it was.

Despite drinking and gambling at Brooks’s in the course of the following hours, however, his memories of Mrs. St. Vincent persisted. In fact, the more he drank, the more vivid they became. Not a particular surprise. He’d decided to play cicisbeo to his mother in order not to spend the day drinking, knowing what it would do to his self-control. He was like a dog with the neighborhood bitch in heat, he thought-driven willy nilly to fuck her. And liquor only made the craving worse.

He didn’t stay more than a few hours at Brooks’s. He left for Madame Rivera’s determined to exhaust himself. If he fucked someone else until he couldn’t fuck anymore, he hoped to annihilate his lustful need for the enticing Rosalind.

A petite, pretty blonde was riding Fitz some time later and silently offering up thanks for her good fortune. All the ladies vied for his attention when he called, knowing darling Fitz always gave pleasure in rich full measure. “I’m so glad you’re staying,” she purred, slowly sliding back down his cock.

After hours of drinking, he was fighting to stave off the compulsion that had brought him here. “I can’t think of a better place to spend the night,” he murmured.

“Lucky me…” He was the only man she knew who could last til morning.

WHILE FITZ WAS doing his prurient best to forget Rosalind, she was locking up the bookstore before setting off for her appointment with Dr. Swindell. In the course of the day, she’d reconciled herself to the practicalities of serving as the Duke of Groveland’s idle entertainment. All the pros, cons, and harsh realities had been neatly compartmentalized and locked away.

If she saw him again, fine. If she didn’t, she understood the rules apropos casual liaisons. They were by definition casual.

She took a few moments to stop by Mr. Edding’s. With the interruptions of late, she wished to let him know she was behind schedule. Not that she would divulge the reasons why-that Fitz had been consuming all her leisure time. But Mr. Edding deserved some warning so he could adjust his publication schedule.

As she walked into his shop, she immediately noticed his apprehension. Thinking perhaps she was jumping to conclusions, she smiled. “Good evening, sir. I came to beg your indulgence. My next manuscript will be delayed I’m afraid.”

“You mustn’t be seen here,” he whispered, although they were quite alone. “I didn’t dare send you a message in the event someone was watching, but you must go. Immediately.”

The panic in his voice was disturbing. “Watching? ” she whispered back.

“I believe I’m under surveillance.” He glanced outside with a furtive look. “Someone learned of my publishing activities. The authorities may swoop down on me at any moment. You must go and don’t under any circumstances come back until you hear from me. Now go!”

No further explanation was required. She knew full well that the obscenity laws viewed Mr. Edding’s publishing ventures as criminal.

“Here,” he hissed, shoving a packet of stationery at her. “Pretend to take money out of your purse, so it looks as though you came in to purchase some stationery.”

She could feel herself beginning to sweat and understood why Edward had never told her of his writing. He was protecting her. Miming a money transaction, she took the package from Mr. Edding and whispered, “I hope you’re wrong about this.”

She was careful not to look about as she exited the shop, not wishing to appear suspicious. But she found herself glancing in shop windows as she moved through the city, trying to see if someone was trailing her. If she was being followed, however, her pursuers were discreet. She could detect no one giving chase. And by the time she reached Dr. Swindell’s, she’d had time to calm the worst of her fears.

Surely no one could implicate her in Mr. Edding’s activities. Her name was never on anything she wrote, she was paid in cash, she only rarely entered his shop. Furthermore, if Edward had escaped the law for the length of time required to write fourteen books, surely she was safe, having written only a few serials.

She was surprised to find the doctor’s townhouse was not only posh, but in a fashionable neighborhood. But then nothing but the best for Fitz and his minions, she reminded herself. However, she was genuinely shocked at the degree of elegance she saw after being ushered inside by a courteous servant. The entrance hall was decorated with artifacts from Pompeii, including replicas of furniture and Roman wall paintings. The carpet was silk and obviously from Persia if her expertise garnered from books was credible. She had no firsthand knowledge since her family could never afford anything so fine.

The servant who welcomed her escorted her down the hall to the back of the house, waved her into a small examining room, and quietly shut the door behind her.

Two large windows overlooked a manicured garden teeming with late summer roses. A riot of color struck the eye, blossoms tumbling over the garden walls, climbing up trellises, flourishing in neat beds bordered by boxwood hedges. She thought of her own pitiful garden behind her store, where sunlight was limited to a few hours a day and her efforts at growing roses had largely met with failure.

She softly sighed.

Oh, for a gardener of one’s own.

And the funds to buy hundreds of roses.

And the wherewithal to take down the buildings on either side of her garden that blocked the sun.

Her reflections gave way as the door opened.

“Good evening, my dear,” Dr. Swindell said as she entered the room. “Are you feeling any better? ”

“Yes, thank you. The salve was an excellent restorative.” In more ways than one, she thought, remembering how easily and painlessly Fitz’s erection had slid in and out. “You have a most lush garden,” she added.

“The roses are my restorative. Gardening is my means of relaxation, although I have help as well.” She waved to a screen in the corner. “If you like, you can change into a gown. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Rosalind was tempted to say, “I feel fine, don’t bother,” but understood it might be useful to see that all was well, Fitz’s avowals of good health notwithstanding. Still, this was a novel experience for her and she couldn’t say she was looking forward to being peered at and probed.

But once she was undressed and the doctor returned, the examination went relatively smoothly. Dr. Swindell put her at ease by chatting of impersonal matters during the exam and by so doing, diverting her attention from the procedure.

“There now,” Dr. Swindell said when she was finished, offering her hand to help Rosalind sit up. “Everything looks fine, barring a return of that small inflammation you mentioned. I would caution you to a modicum of prudence in terms of overindulgence-if you wish, of course,” she added as Rosalind blushed. “I’m not suggesting it’s necessary. You’d know best how you feel. But should you need it, I’ll send along some more salve.”

“Thank you, that would be useful.”

“If you have any questions of any kind, please, ask away. I’m not in the least judgmental.”

“Well… that is…” Rosalind hesitated, not in the habit of discussing such things. “Need I… worry about… some dangerous disease? ” she finally stammered.

“There’s always the risk,” the doctor replied, Rosalind’s reluctant query common in her practice. “I don’t like to promise my patients absolution from such possibilities. Naturally, it depends on one’s partner-on their fidelity.”

“I understand.” Her heart sank. As if fidelity was even in Fitz’s vocabulary.

“You could use a condom of course-as an added measure of safety. I could give you some if you like and save you the necessity of going to a chemist.”

She was politely saying, You wouldn’t have to expose your sexual activity to the world. “Thank you-a few would be useful,” Rosalind murmured.

“A wise choice, my dear. Forethought is excellent insurance against disease. While you dress, I’ll make up a small package for you.”

As Rosalind dressed, she contemplated how significantly her world had changed in a few short days. Here she was, dressing after a doctor’s examination she might never have contemplated before. Not only that, she was bringing home condoms and salve so she might engage in sexual activities with a man she barely knew.

If he even elected to return.

Not a material certainty, Fitz’s departure that morning polite but devoid of any promise of future assignations.

On her journey home, that uncertainty looped through her mind, dogging her despite her best efforts to consider more pleasant prospects. But she wanted to see Fitz again-whether it meant ultimate heartache or not. Whether it was sensible or not. Although, clearly she wasn’t when she coveted a man like Fitz; surely their encounters were akin to that poetic line about ships passing in the night.

She would be wise to keep in mind the fleeting nature of his liaisons. It would be insane to contemplate actually caring for a man of his ilk. She grimaced. Particularly after so few days. Good God, I am a fool.

By the time she’d traveled the considerable distance from the doctor’s and was nearing home, she’d beaten down most of her rash inclinations and was commending herself on her good sense. She’d reconciled herself to simply enjoying Fitz’s company if and when he appeared. Just that-enjoy-and nothing more. Carpe diem would be her motto.

If only he hadn’t been waiting for her, such well-founded pragmatism might have prevailed.

But he was.

Lounging in all his jeunesse dorйe glory against her bow window, tall and rangy in a suit of ecru linen, his dark hair shoved behind his ears as if he’d combed it with his fingers, his face so starkly beautiful her breath caught in her throat.

She screamed and began running toward him.

Propriety and prudence be damned.

She didn’t get far; he ran faster, and when they met, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her soundly, needing corporeal evidence that she was real and he was no longer bereft.

She finally whispered, “Mfphffp,” against his mouth because passersby were stopping to stare.

He raised his head politely but minimally and grinned. “Forgive me, I might be a little drunk.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, lighthearted, content, happier than she’d ever been in her life. “But we should get off the street.”

“I brought you something,” he said with a smile, kissing her again without regard for their audience. “You’ll like it.” He winked. “Guaranteed.”

“You think so? ” she asked playfully, hugging him as if he were her salvation from the shipwreck of life, not altogether concerned with observers when she was beginning to believe in castles in the air.

“I know so. It’s a harem present.” He didn’t even watch her face as he spoke, the gift untainted by malice-for her pleasure alone.

But once they reached her apartment, he sat down on the nearest chair with her on his lap, took her purse and package, set them aside, and simply held her. “It’s been quite a long day,” he gruffly said, leaving a trail of kisses across her forehead and down her cheek. “Way too long…”

It was amazing, she thought, how happiness filled her to overflowing when Fitz was near-spilling out in a smile she couldn’t contain. Even when she should have known better than to care about a man like him. “I missed you,” she whispered, enraptured and smitten. “There. I’m like all the other adoring women in your life. And I don’t care.”

“You’re nothing like the others. Not even close.” If he hadn’t drunk so much, if he hadn’t found Madame Rivera’s intolerable for the first time in his life, if he didn’t feel as though he’d reached safe haven when he’d never so much as thought of the phrase before, he wouldn’t have added with such vehemence, “Thank God you finally came home.”

And you were here. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”

“Where were you?” Another first-wanting to know where a woman had been, when he normally wanted to know when they were leaving.

“I went to see Dr. Swindell.”

“Christ,” he muttered, knowing he was responsible. “I knew I should have been more careful last night.”

“No, no, everything’s fine. I’d made an appointment yesterday, so I kept it, that’s all.”

He leaned back marginally and scanned her face. “You’re sure? ”

“Positive.”

He exhaled in relief. “I’ll be on my best behavior; your present can wait,” he added. “It was probably a selfish gesture anyway.”

She grinned. “You, selfish? ”

“Point taken. On the other hand,” he said, smiling in return, “you’ve been known to make a few selfish demands yourself.” His smile widened. “Give me more comes to mind.”

“Or how about, Give me my present?” Curiosity overcame politesse.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You were at the doctor today because of me. It can wait until you’re in the pink of health again.”

“I am, for heaven’s sake. I’m perfectly fine. I couldn’t be better. Just show me. Please…”

Since he was here in the first place because he couldn’t resist her, he was hardly in the position to deny such an appealing plea. “It’s just a toy,” he said in dismissal.

“I love toys.” Had some other woman spoken in that coquettish voice?

With a reluctant sigh and a grimace, he pulled a narrow shagreen box from his pocket. “This is for later now. I don’t want to argue.”

It’s jewelry, she thought at the sight of the leather box, a necklace perhaps from the shape. But as she was beginning to take issue with what she perceived as his customary gift for the women in his life, he flipped open the lid.

“Wherever did you get that? ” she blurted out, shocked-and intrigued.

“At a jeweler’s. It’s a Renaissance piece, but don’t worry, I was assured that it’s been thoroughly cleaned. Apparently, it’s a Cellini object d’art.”

“Are you serious? ”

He grinned. “I generally try not to be, but in this case I am.”

“May I touch it? ”

“Certainly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the gold engraved dildo, then lifted it from the silk-lined box and studied the amorous images. As she turned the exquisite piece to view all the scenes, the starkly erotic content triggered an immediate and heated response-which was the point no doubt of the portrayals of mythical figures engaged in amorous play. Although Fitz’s erection pressing into her bottom also contributed to her expeditious arousal. A charming combination in any event. “Maybe we could try this,” she murmured, a distinctly carnal heat warming her senses, melting inside her.

Fitz shook his head. “We should wait.”

“This is smaller than you.”

“It’s metal though-not in the least pliant.”

“I hardly think your erection is what you’d call pliant.”

“It is in contrast to this. I’m not arguing, darling.” He took it from her hand and shoved it in his pocket. “We’ll use it some other time.”

“Or you could just watch.”

He looked at her from under his lashes. “Now you’re trying to torment me.”

“At least he’s interested,” she said softly, shifting in his lap, his rigid length pronounced.

“Don’t be difficult,” he growled, steeling himself against his cravings, “when I’m trying to be unselfish.”

“I won’t blame you,” she replied, rubbing against his swelling erection, only the linen of his trousers and her skirt barricade to consummation. “I take full responsibility.”

He softly groaned.

“Let me just try this little toy. Please?” She’d take her pleasure where she could as per her carpe diem promise to herself. With Fitz tomorrows were uncertain.

“I’d rather not. I’m content just to hold you.” After the misery of his day, he was more than content, or maybe the contrast between Madame Rivera’s and Rosalind’s parlor was pleasure enough. “Or we could go out to dinner.”

“Or I could pout.”

He chuckled. “As you like to say to me, you can’t always have what you want.”

“You’re cruel. I had a perfect bill of health. Come, Fitz, give me either the Cellini or you. Consider, you’ve awakened my feverish desires. You can’t just ignore me. Please, please, be a dear…”

There wasn’t a man with a heartbeat who could have refused.

And his blood was coursing through more than his heart at the moment.

“I’m doing this against my better judgment,” he declared, rising to his feet with her in his arms and moving toward the bedroom.

“I love when you play the gallant,” she purred, raining kisses on his face and neck as they moved through the parlor, his benevolence only heightening her affection and desires. “I find it wildly provocative.”

He shot her a disgruntled look. “I find everything about you wildly provocative,” he grumbled. “And just for the record, I tried to say no.” A record in every sense of the word.

“How sweet.” She shivered, anticipating the intoxicating obverse of no, her vagina liquid with longing, well ahead of her in eagerness.

“I’m not going to be sweet for long,” he growled.

But his long was less precipitous than hers for once he deposited her on the bed she said, with a strong hint of her school mistress voice, “Do hurry, Fitz-please!”

It would have been better if his first thought wasn’t Now I know why she wrote erotica. Or if he wasn’t so personally involved, enamored, or stupid that he’d overruled his instincts and habits of a lifetime to come and see her again. Or if she hadn’t added in an imperious tone that set his teeth on edge, “Please, don’t play the dominating male right now.”

He was unfamiliar with women like Mrs. St. Vincent who were completely devoid of flattery and honeyed blandishments. But perhaps that was why she appealed to him, he more sensibly decided, tamping down his temper. There was no point in being disagreeable when she was flame hot and willing.

“Sorry, darling,” he smoothly replied, avoiding a contretemps that had nothing to do with her. She was visibly panting; only a fool would take offense at her ready passions.

“I’m sorry, too, really I am,” she whispered, aware of the brief flash of anger in his eyes. “I can wait.”

But she was shrugging out of her bodice as she spoke, her skirts were rucked up over her thighs, her drawers untied, and he decided perhaps neither of them should wait for long.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, he smiled. “You’re an insatiable little puss, but far be it from me to deny you.”

“Thank you,” she sweetly said, too close to consummation to take a chance of offending him. Dildos aside, his strong body most appealed.

“Such acquiescence, darling.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out of humor,” she said, slipping her drawers down her legs and tossing them aside.

He grinned. “At this stage.”

Her gaze was half-lidded, her hips gently swaying. “Indeed.”

“Then lie down, sweetheart, spread your legs, and let me know when you’ve had enough of Cellini.” It was at least smaller.

She immediately complied, one arm free of her blouse, the other not, and lying with her thighs open, flagrantly available, she smiled her temptress smile. “You’re such a darling…”

In a way he was for letting her have her way, when he’d thought better of it. But perhaps his French governess had schooled him too well-or rather, schooled him to perfection, his many satisfied lovers would attest-for he agreed to what she wanted. “Stop me if this hurts,” he murmured, sliding the smooth metal over her sleek cleft.

She nodded, and took a very small breath as the cool dildo glided over her labia and entered her. How many women had felt the pleasure of this toy in the last three hundred years, she wondered. Were they, too, in illicit affairs? Were they in love or infatuated like she? Was their lover as beautiful? Did they feel this degree of infinite bliss…?

He saw her smile and smiled himself at the half-undressed woman with tousled hair and pinked cheeks who had lured him into her seductive net. And when in the past he would have balked at being caught, instead, he set out to please her.

She whimpered once and he stopped.

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him with a fevered gaze.

“More? ”

Her eyes went shut.

Understanding, he exerted a modicum more pressure, and so it went-he carefully monitoring her response, she softly moaning, catching her breath from time to time. At which point, he always stopped until she gave him leave to continue.

But orgasms never took long with the ravenous Mrs. St. Vincent, her libido on a very short fuse, her orgasmic impetuosity charmingly predictable.

But when she came-more quietly than usual-he glimpsed tears seeping under her lashes and panicked. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully withdrawing the dildo, scrutinizing the gold surface for traces of blood, calling himself every kind of brute for not being more sensible.

Reaching up, Rosalind brushed his lips with her fingers. “Tears of happiness, darling,” she whispered, knowing the truth would never do. “I’m not hurt.” She was lovesick instead, craving a man she could never have, desperately enamored after a few brief days. Foolish beyond words.

“Honestly? ”

“Cross my heart.”

“Dammit, that’s it,” he firmly said, his heart still racing, not sure he could believe her. “We’re done. We’ll have tea instead.”

“No we won’t because I want you too much. And if you say no, I’ll cry. Really, Fitz, I’ll make a scene.”

She wasn’t smiling. God, he dreaded crying women. On the other hand, he daren’t do anything that might harm her. That’s what came from becoming attached to a virtuous woman, he decided with an inward sigh. They turned out to be fragile as hell. “I wish you wouldn’t cry,” he said, testing the waters. “And I also wish you’d wait.”

“We could wait until we undress,” she offered as if she were actually complying when she was in fact being bloody difficult.

He groaned. “I’m trying to be virtuous-Jesus, don’t tempt me. I’m not good at resisting temptation.”

“Nor am I. Perfect,” she brightly said.

“No it isn’t,” he grumbled. “We might end up dealing with some goddamn catastrophe.” Abruptly coming to his feet, he walked to the window and stared at her blighted garden.

“I’ll lock you in.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I won’t let you go.”

He spun around.

“Come back to bed, darling,” she coaxed, “and hold me.”

He looked at the irresistible woman who drew him back against his better judgment day after day, her half undress more provocative than nudity, her heavy auburn hair framing the stunning beauty of her face. “Just hold you,” he replied.

“Yes, yes, that’s all,” she lied, playing Circe without compunction for the first time in her life. Why shouldn’t she seize what happiness she could, when Fitz was no more than a meteor passing through her life?

He approached her slowly, though, not quite trusting her, trusting himself less, and finally stopped, indecisive and restless, beside the bed.

“You’re much too nice, Your Grace,” she teased, looking up into his grave gaze.

“And you’re much too enticing, Mrs. St. Vincent.”

“Maybe we could come to some agreement.”

“I wish we could.”

“I’m sure we can.” She slipped off the sleeve still half draped on her arm, shrugged out of her blouse, and began unbuttoning her chemise.

He didn’t move, save for his rising erection.

But when she’d slipped off her chemise, exposing her large, resplendent breasts, and began unbuttoning the waistband of her skirt, temptation was too great for a duke who had commanded the world since adolescence. Jerking her to her feet, he shoved her skirt and petticoat down her hips, pushed her back on the bed, and fell on top of her fully dressed and shod, still unbuttoning his trousers.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he said through clenched teeth, swiftly guiding the head of his cock to her sex. “And don’t fucking say I hurt you.” Goaded past the point of civility, he flexed his quads, swung his hips forward, and plunged into her sleek, ripe body.

He wouldn’t have had to worry about injuring her, his forward progress unimpeded in the slippery heat of her well-lubricated cunt. Relieved, gratified, mostly lecherous and lustful, he settled into a deft, experienced rhythm sure to please his partner and ultimately himself.

Today, everything about Fitz intensified her frenzied ardor-his restive need, the wildness in his eyes, his smooth, restrained thrust and withdrawal that brought a thin beading of sweat to his forehead, the erotic sensation of him fully clothed under her hands, over her, the titillating friction of his trousers on her thighs. He was as hot-headed as she, as skittish and high strung. As immune to reason.

He’d waited for her to return. She knew the feeling; she’d been waiting for him ever since the first night he made love to her. And now he was offering her pleasure as only he could and she wanted it all-every enchanting measure-until he left her. As he would most certainly, she sadly knew. But not right now.

“You please me, darling Fitz,” she whispered, her orgasm fast approaching, passion and tenderness a feverish, heady tumult that warmed her heart and soul.

He looked surprised for a fraction of a second at the winsomeness in her voice, then he raised one brow and smiled. “You’re the sunshine of my life,” he softly said in return, braced his shoe soles against the foot of the iron bedstead, and pleased her even more.

SLIDING OFF HIS jacket and shoes, Fitz held Rosalind close after their first frantic passions had been appeased, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of her body pressed against his. Advising himself against making more sexual demands, he politely made conversation. “Tell me,” he suavely remarked. “How did you like Dr. Swindell? ”

“She was very nice.” Stretching upward, Rosalind kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder once again. “She’s ever so pleasant. By the way, she sent condoms home with me.” She sat up and smiled at Fitz. “I was warned to be vigilant against disease.”

Not entirely sure whether she was serious, he said, “If you want me to use a condom, I will.”

She wrinkled her nose. “At the time, it sounded reasonable, but now I’m not so sure. Am I being incautious? ”

“If you’re asking whether I’m a threat, I’m not.”

“What about”-she reminded herself she was going to be adult about their carpe diem relationship-“others.”

He didn’t immediately answer because he was tempted to say he was uninterested in other women. But he wasn’t quite so irrational. “I’m always careful,” he said instead. “If the circumstances warrant, I use a condom. You decide, though. If the doctor thinks you should, we’ll use them.”

“I’m angry with you when I have no right,” she said with a sigh.

“We’re both in no man’s land, darling. I can’t stay away as you know.” He shrugged faintly. “I’ve decided not to think about it.”

“I did as well until I saw you waiting for me, and then I went crazy.”

He grinned. “We’ll go crazy together.”

“I must say, you do have the most delicious methodology in that regard.” Pleased that she wasn’t alone in her lunacy, she dropped back down on his shoulder and tracing a finger along his jaw shadowed with late-day stubble, changed the subject to something less fraught with emotion. “The doctor had the most gorgeous rose garden. It was absolutely stupendous.”

“In what way? ” He was uninitiated in the merits of stupendous gardens.

“She had every imaginable color rose. They spilled over her garden wall, ran up trellises, covered the entire yard space like a carpet. It looked like a fairy-tale land. She has a gardener, though, which accounts for the garden’s pristine condition, and of course, she has the money to buy all those gorgeous roses.”

“Would you like some roses?” Jewelry was unacceptable, he’d discovered, although sex toys were well received. But he would have liked to buy her other things. A novel feeling after a lifetime of having his retainers buy gifts for his lovers.

“No, no… I don’t have time to take care of a garden in any event. But thank you for asking. It was just so beautiful, that’s all… it caught my fancy. And speaking of things catching my fancy,” she purred. “I do believe its been at least five minutes since I climaxed.”

“Do you think it’s wise? ” An indication of his affection. He would not in the past have been so altruistic.

“Don’t even start again,” she said with a delicious pout.

“Very well,” Fitz replied, understanding there were times to hold one’s ground and times not to. “Let me see to my obligations.” Setting her aside, he sat up and began undressing.

“That’s better,” she lightly said. It would never do to pretend making love was anything more than a game. “And I have orders for you this time.”