Ecstasy Wears Emeralds (26 page)

Without intending it, the arcs of electricity that began to link her breasts and her clit exploded in a lightning storm of sensation, and Gayle threw her head back to allow her release to take over, wave after wave of shimmering fire pushing her over the edge.

She collapsed on top of him in a graceless, contented heap. “Oh, dear . . . what of your pleasure, Rowan?”

“This is pleasure, Gayle, but perhaps you're right. I don't think I can play the spectator any longer.” He sat up suddenly and turned the table on his temptress, pushing her down on the narrow bed, her black hair fanning out beneath her like Ophelia floating on the water. “I'll take my pleasure as I wish.”

He'd been in awe of the goddess that had knelt above him and climaxed at his command. That Gayle would trust him and give in to her own passions was a humbling thing, and he hadn't lied about enjoying it. His body craved a release of its own, but he was in no hurry to end this interlude and return to the real world that awaited them both.

He nibbled on her toes and gently bit the inside of her instep, then kissed her ankle and worked his way up her leg, lingering briefly at her knees and then again at the soft curves of her thighs.

She sighed. “This is heaven.”

He rolled her over with a wicked smile and leaned over to tongue the crease of her bottom and dip his tongue into the dimples above each rounded cheek. She wiggled at the playful change and gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. “What are you up to?”

“Did you prefer it on your back, then?” Without warning, Rowan flipped her back down into the bedding and spread her legs wide so he could tease the indent between her thighs and her sex. “Is this better?”

“Rowan!” She giggled. “That tickles!”

His delight at her laughter was the herald of all that followed. “You are far too serious, Miss Renshaw. Perhaps that's just what you need before I roger you soundly.”

His fingers replaced his tongue, and she was helpless to stop the fantastic torture of his hands tickling her into submission.

Gayle struggled, caught in a merry battle not to scream out in delight, unsure of when she'd last experienced the unmitigated joy of being tickled. It was childlike, but then there was nothing innocent in his touch or the wicked work of his fingers. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing, kicking out to escape the hands that tormented her with pleasure.

“Enough! Rowan, enough!” she begged.

Never enough.
Rowan chuckled but gave in to her pleas for mercy, only to spread her thighs and press his mouth against the swollen flesh of her body. “Here is what I need. To drink you in . . .”

His tongue dipped into the well of her folds, and Rowan lapped up the delicious ambrosia of her essence. He took his time, savoring her, inhaling the sweetness, and fanning her inflamed skin with his cool breath until he knew from her moans and the fever building in her body's frame that she was almost ready for him.

He lifted himself up and covered her body with his, kissing her so that she could taste the salty-sweetness of her own climax on his lips. She began to wrap her legs around his waist to pull him down, but Rowan resisted her to roll her over onto her stomach, one last time, this time lifting her hips so that she was on her knees for him, her sex swollen and glistening with her own crème. His flesh was rock hard and pulsing in a furious rhythm that matched the pace of his heart. He sheathed himself in a condom and prepared to find his own release inside of her.

Gayle lowered herself onto her forearms, pushing her bottom into the air as she spread her knees wide, instinctively wanting to achieve the depth she craved and the access he needed. She was already so sensitive from her own release that, at the first touch of his cock to her slit, she had to cover her own mouth to keep from screaming.

He thrust into her, so hard the iron cot screeched in protest, but she reached back to clutch at his hips, urging him to go on. Again and again, Rowan drove forward, each thrust slower and deeper, in an ancient dance that ground out all logic.

He bent over to encircle her waist with his arms and then leaned back with her head back against his shoulder, her bottom pressed up against his hips. He held her upright, letting her find her balance with her thighs spread wide. She was impaled on his cock, and he filled her completely. Her muscles began to milk him, and there was no need to thrust or make any great movements, as their bodies blended into one passionate organism.

His hands roamed over her body, steadying her but also fondling her breasts and then finding her clit. She trembled against him, thrashing a little as another more powerful orgasm began to gather momentum, and he waited until he was sure she was just on the brink—and then he pushed her over by pinching the ripe red tips of her breasts until she cried out his name and sagged against him in a half faint.

Civilization fell away and Rowan abandoned all pretenses as he went over the precipice, stripped of any façade of tenderness. Her passion had fueled his, and he knew that she was the one with the whip hand. His orgasm jetted from him in scalding spasms that left him shaking.

This was ecstasy so sweet, like falling into an ice green pool of emeralds....

Later, Rowan gently pushed the black silk of her hair back from her cheek while she slept and lifted one long, heavy curl to his lips to inhale the floral fragrance of her hair and draw it over his lips.

For the strange courtship of his apprentice, he didn't think there was a source of advice available for the path ahead. He was wary of pressing her too hard on the subject of marriage, for fear of losing her entirely. Miss Gayle Renshaw was a puzzle. For all her reluctance to accept the respectability he was willing to provide, she was equally mortified to be discovered in his bed or looked down on as a mistress. She was caught in the grip of his desires as surely as Rowan was.

She'd asked for time to get used to it all, and he wanted nothing more than the chance to win her over completely, heart, mind, and body.

He held her close and watched her sleep in the illumination provided by a slim ray of moonlight through her windows. It was selfish to keep her close, and he knew he would have to creep out before dawn to his own rooms to ensure that none of the household found him out of bed. But in a week it would be the full moon, and the need to keep her close and safe was as palpable and real as any fear he had ever experienced in his life.

Chapter
20

The following day was unnervingly quiet for Rowan. He'd already alerted Carter to be on his guard, hinting that one of his patients had warned of a new rash of burglaries in the area. He'd instructed Barnaby to stay close to the house and to keep an eye on the ladies if they ran any errands. He sincerely doubted that Mrs. Wilson would be in any danger shopping for eels, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

As for Gayle, he'd decided to keep her by his side until the threat passed. As far as she was concerned, it was a normal day in the laboratory as they worked side by side on documenting the latest changes to his testing environments.

When the bell rang in the afternoon, and Carter came to get him, Rowan did his best to look calm as he waited to hear where the hammer had fallen.

“A runner from Blackwell's.” Carter held out the note and Rowan took it with numb fingers.

“Miss Renshaw. Come with me. We're needed on a call.” He folded the note into his pocket and they were racing for the door. “Carter, tell Theo it's urgent and if the carriage isn't ready by the time I reach the door, tell him to hail a hackney.”

Carter rang the bell for Theo, confident that the man would be waiting downstairs, and trailed behind them to hand them coats and finish getting instructions from Rowan. Rowan stopped briefly in the library to pick up his bag and then again at his office on the ground floor to repack a few things from the exam room he thought he might need while the house launched into motion at Carter's experienced direction.

A fall down the stairs. It could be a broken bone, an internal injury, a head injury . . . any number of things.
He made his selections quickly, and Gayle only watched, no doubt sensing that this was not a good time to ask questions.

Within just a few minutes, they were on their way, and Rowan tried to take a steadying breath. The significance of the date wasn't lost on him, but tripping down stairs inside one's own home didn't sound like the dastardly work of an unseen enemy. Still . . . they would just have to wait and see.

“It's Blackwell's wife. She's fallen down some stairs and Ashe has sent for us saying it's urgent.”

Gayle nodded. “They are newly wed, aren't they? When he spoke of her, he was very sweet.”

“I'd forgotten you'd met.”

“Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Rutherford seemed very nice. You are lucky in your friends.”

“Yes.” Rowan's eyes dropped to the scars on his wrists. “Extremely lucky.”

The ride wasn't fast enough to suit Rowan, but they arrived before long. Rowan jumped out before they'd even pulled to a stop, and then he reached up for Gayle and his bag, only to run up the stairs and go in without waiting on ceremony.

Godwin was at the door. “Dr. West! Thank God!”

Ashe was bounding down the stairs before Rowan had removed his coat. “Where the hell have you been?” The panic on his face was unmistakable.

“Did she break anything?” They were on the move back up the stairs as Rowan tried to understand what he was facing.

“I don't think so, but she's . . . so sick! Godwin sent for me as soon as it happened. He said she was flushed and became dizzy. It was a bad fall, Rowan. Something is terribly wrong!”

“Flushed and dizzy before she fell? Or is that only after?”

“Daisy said it was just before! Could she be—”

Rowan held up his hand as they reached the bedroom door, all too aware that Gayle was on his heels. “I'm not guessing. I'll see her and then we can start ruling things out and get this sorted away, all right?”

Ashe nodded.

“Why don't you wait here, Ashe? Or better yet, downstairs?” Rowan knew what his answer was going to be, but he felt obligated to try.

“No.” Ashe's eyes flashed icy resolve, and Rowan glanced at Gayle.

“Stay close.” He pushed the door open and prayed that Ashe wouldn't get in the way. Within seconds, it was clear that Caroline was desperately ill. She was writhing in pain, her eyes wild with fear, and it was all she could do to lift her head before the next wave of nausea overtook her.

A hand on her forehead confirmed that she was clammy and cold to the touch, and Rowan did his best to smile and reassure her as he went through the steps of an initial assessment and exam.

He applied pressure to her abdomen and ruled out appendicitis with fleeting relief but dreaded what he was seeing.
Gastric fever.