A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (24 page)

This time he wasn’t lying. She knew those cold eyes well enough by now to sense when he stalled or purposely confused the issue. Stunned by the news, she felt every ounce of fight in her simply evaporate. Tears flooded her eyes. “How could you do this—keep this from me?”

Her legs ached from the weight of his knees. He moved his hand under her chemise, revealing more of her. With his free hand, he unbuttoned his trousers.

Something pressed against her woman’s mound. A shudder of revulsion ran through her. “Stop—please—” She shut her eyes.

“Look at me.” He kneed her legs apart. “I’m going to take you now, Catriona. And I want to see those beautiful sapphire eyes.” He poised above her. “Sorry if this hurts.” A shadow moved overhead. She blinked several times to see through a blur of tears. She recognized the face that loomed above Alonso’s. There was not another glare in the world quite like it.

  *  *  *  

FINN YANKED THE man’s head back by the hair. “Sorry if this hurts,
bastardo,
” he said.

He wasn’t sure who was on top of Cate—but he was about to die. The man looked to be the same thug that had used her as a shield earlier today.

Quick as a striking snake, the anarchist wrapped his hands around Cate’s neck. Finn shoved his gun between the man’s legs. “In the bollocks or up the ass? Your choice.” He placed a knee to the man’s spine and slipped a wire around his neck. “Let go of her.” There was a great deal of choking and gurgling before her violator began to fade. Finn, took the man’s head in his hands and wrenched hard. The neck snapped.

He tossed the dead torso off Cate. For the second time since he entered the cabin he made eye contact with her. Wide eyes filled with terror and confusion—perhaps some relief. “Get dressed.”

She rasped, then gasped for air. Once she had filled her lungs, she choked out a question. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”

“Out of bullets. No time to reload.” He shrugged off her surly eye roll.

“I’m afraid the trousers are in shreds.” She scrambled off the bed.

“Never mind. I’ll be the only one who knows you’re naked under that little nothing of a slip.” He kept his speech clipped, his expression blank.

He helped her stand and pulled down the chemise. “Thank you, Finn. Twice in one day—quite a good deal of rescuing.” Her thin smile ended in a shiver. “Would you untie me, please?”

He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. “No.”

Finn took her by the arm and she winced. “A bit bruised up?” He suppressed the urge to yank her down the galley as they climbed over dead bodies. Instead, he guided her abovedecks to the waiting skiff. He nodded to Dé Riquet. “I’ll be right with you.”

A moment later he was back with a knapsack he tossed down to Cate. “What’s left of the Crown’s money. You can buy yourself new pantalets.” He sat down beside Dé Riquet and grabbed an oar. “Row like the devil.”

Less than fifty feet from the pier, a thunderous explosion blasted out of the cabin of the sloop. Unfazed, Finn continued to row. “Dangerous to keep explosives on board.”

She tucked her chin inside the collar of his coat. “You’re rather accomplished at blowing up terrorists with their own explosives.”

Finn angled his oar and steered them toward the pontoon at the side of the pier. There was a town coach waiting dockside. The moment he had her inside the carriage he was going to spank that little naked bottom raw. Cate had fearlessly approached the ragged bunch of anarchists a second time and nearly gotten herself raped. She might have been murdered, her body dumped in the bay. An icy shiver ran down his spine.

“I went back inside to retrieve my gun—my old service revolver. Stolen from me by a certain anarchist sympathizer—who is once again in my custody.” The skiff bumped gently against the landing. “Turns out one of the men in the galley wasn’t quite dead. He knocked down an oil lamp coming after me.”

“Kaboom.”
Dé Riquet grinned.

Cate’s watery eyes rolled upward. “I suppose they got what they deserve.” Her sigh was more of a shudder. “
Los Tigres
will resurrect itself—with a different name and new blood. This goes on and on in Spain. The goals are always the same—they always begin with honorable intentions.” Her gaze moved out beyond the flames engulfing the boat. “Somehow they never end that way.”

Finn walked her down the pier, half holding her up around the waist. As they approached the carriage, he passed Dé Riquet a few coins. “We’ll need a bottle of whiskey—something made in Scotland. And several bottles of ale, along with supper. In that order.”

He climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Cate. He stared into her face for a long time as he contemplated various forms of punishment. The lash, the strap, the back
of his hand . . . Finn exhaled a harsh sigh. No, Cate Willoughby was decidedly too old for a spanking—at least the naughty child sort of spanking.

Even though his anger clung to the fantasy of a red bottom, corporal punishment was out.

But there were many different kinds of torture, some vastly more enjoyable than others. Finn thought about the painful case of blue balls she had left him with. His gaze narrowed even as a lopsided grin emerged.

Her squirming made the upholstery squeak more than once. “You’ve every right to be angry with me.” Her eyes darted out the window then back to him.

“You lead a charmed life, Cate.”

She sniffed. “I don’t feel very fortunate.”

“And what if I hadn’t come along when I did?” His temper teetered on the edge of explosive anger. If it weren’t for the undeniable terror he’d felt at the sight of her in physical danger, he’d have her shackled at the leg and hauled into a French jail right about now. Perhaps there were ways to get his mind off the fear he’d felt, while capitalizing on the adrenaline still pumping through his system.

He leaned across the coach and placed both hands on her knees. “When we get back to the flat, let me tell you what I’m going to do to you.”

Chapter Eighteen

C
ate wasn’t completely nude. He’d left her stockings on. She tugged at her bindings and glared. “Mr. Phineas Gunn, aka Hugh Curzon, aka
demonio-bestia bruta, bárbaro del diablo, animal salvaje del perro, cerdo despreciable
.” She gasped for air and began again. “Let me translate, you brutish fiend-beast, devil barbarian, savage dog, despicable swine—”

“Not too loud, darling.” He tilted his chair back. “You wouldn’t want me to have to apply a gag, would you?” His collar was open and shirt unbuttoned. Below the waist, the man was covered in leather. Deerskin hugged muscular thighs and he wore tall riding boots. Aware of her gaze, he crossed a boot over his knee. Her nudity, the bindings, and this dishabille of his charged the atmosphere with something lusty and sensual. And worst of all, it was working.
Aroused
could barely describe what she felt.

He hadn’t touched her yet. But those piercing dark eyes promised he would. And she wanted him to. In fact, it was all she could think about. There was an edge of fear to these bindings—there was also something delicious and disturbing. Her womb already ached and she was aware
of a stunning wetness—in those forbidden places, lower down. His gaze dropped beneath her navel and her belly trembled.

He squeezed a fresh wedge of lemon over a plate of oysters. “You’re not an anarchist, Cate, nor are you a very skilled operative. You get yourself into too many—situations. This continual and, I must say, fearless confrontation technique of yours.” He shook his head. “A professional would never work this way. Only an amateur could enjoy such dumb luck.” He tilted a half shell to his mouth and slurped one down.

Her stomach growled.

Finn tut-tutted. “You don’t eat enough. In fact, I suspect you forget to eat. Is this litheness”—an ogle traveled down her legs—“something you must maintain for dance?” Finn picked up his ale and sauntered over to the bed. “To my mind, you need a bit of feeding up.”

She moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue and eyed the bottle.

“No doubt near rape causes a thirst . . .” His dark smoldering gaze swept over her body and lingered just below her navel. He stood above her and flipped open the stopper. “Whenever I experience a close brush with death, a pint or two seems to take the edge off.” He tilted back his head and took a long guzzle.

Cate closed her eyes and imagined amber liquid flowing down her throat. The mattress dipped to one side. He sat close, and pressed the cool glass against her bottom lip. Drops flavored with malt and hops filled her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could before the stream of ale ran down her chin and neck.

She opened her eyes and met his. “M-more.” He tilted the bottle, and she gulped.

His gaze followed the trail of droplets to the pool of liquid in the cleft between her breasts.

Beige, translucent flesh hardened under his study. “I imagine these two would like to be kissed.” Cate inhaled sharply as her chest rose and her back arched. Her traitorous, wanton body pleaded with this man in its strange, silent language of need.

Finn smiled. The first one she’d seen from him in hours.

One golden drop traveled down her chest. He moistened his finger with a pool of ale then circled an areola—first one peak, then the other. Cate writhed under his touch. “I believe I’m thirsty again.”

Finn tipped the bottle and poured a spot of ale on each tip. He licked first and then suckled. Cate moaned this time. She strained against her bindings as he took to suckling one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers. A strong surge of arousal caused her entire body to buck and writhe. “Ah yes, Finn.”

He raised his head. She returned his gaze, even as her chest heaved and her stomach quivered. “Ah yes, Finn, what?” He reclined beside her. “Do you desire something more?”

His grin caused her bottom lip to protrude. And oh how her womanly parts desired—more. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Finn?”

“The truth.” His hand slipped across her navel and inched through her curls. Her eyelids fluttered, as did her stomach muscles. A single finger moved between her labia, and was greeted by a flood of arousal. She sucked in a harsh, uneven breath. “Please—”

His hand cupped her venus mound as his finger circled the swollen nub that brought her more pleasure than she had ever known in her life. Occasionally when she
danced, there were moments of ecstasy, even feelings of arousal, but this—this was as if Finn knew what her body wanted, needed. And he toyed with her pleasure. Holding back when she begged for more. Waiting patiently for her arousal to subside, so he might start again. This time he pressed farther, deeper, quickening his fingers until she was moaning again. “Make me—let me—take me there, please.”

She felt fully and completely tortured by him. “I will keep you here all night if I have to,” he said.

She suddenly understood. He was going to withhold her pleasure, and the more she thought about that fact, the more she could not think of anything else but her satisfaction. She was wound up as taut as a string on a Spanish guitar. Her entire body thrummed with desire. “Mother of God, pleasure me.
¡Déjame culminar!”

“The entire story, Cate.” He swiveled around and placed his feet on the floor. He tugged off his boots and hose. “No half-truths. No obfuscating.” He rose from the bed and lifted off his shirt. “No excuses. No deferrals.” He unbuttoned his breeches and untied his drawers, stepping out of both. “And I want . . .
fellatio
.”

Phineas Gunn was large and hard—every part of him. He stood there, in all his lionesque beauty, cock angled toward the ceiling. “Deal?”

She strained against her bindings. “Untie me.”

He rested his hands on his hips, just above the magnificent groin muscle that cut down each side of his body. He moved closer. “I want your arousal to be as great as mine, therefore—you will remain bound. Afterward, I will soundly pleasure you, and then you will cuddle up against me and tell me everything.” He crawled over her, but remained on his knees. The head of his cock was smooth
and round—the shape of a Roman helmet. “Then we will make love again.”

Everything about this man spoke of honor, courage—adventure. And yet he was gently coercing her, the devil. “Lick it, Cate.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Closer.”