His thumb traced the arch of her cheekbone. "But then that's what it's supposed to do. You're not so flushed." She was still warm to the touch, almost unnaturally so, but the color in her face was no longer mottled. The hint of rose spread evenly over her skin, highlighted by the light from the oil lamp. The shape of the face was oval, the eyes wide, just a fraction too large for the elfin face. She wasn't a classic beauty by any means but she was something more than he had expected to find in any New York brothel, even an expensive one like Mrs. Hall's. He nearly spoke his mind but thought better of it.
It would have been the worst kind of compliment, one she wouldn't have appreciated.
He let his hand drift over her cheek. His knuckle touched her mouth.
Her lips were full. His light touch made them part. The Scotch had made them moist. His darkening eyes were fastened on her mouth. "Show me your tongue," he said lowly.
She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue a full inch and a half.
"Aaaaahhhh."
He was so surprised that he burst out laughing. His hand dropped away from her face. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind but it's a very pretty tongue. Very pink. Nice teeth, too. And you've kept your tonsils." He nudged her jaw. "You can close now. I've seen quite enough. Another drink is definitely in order." He took a long pull on the bottle himself and saw out of the corner of his eye that she had expected him to give the bottle back to her. He obliged and let her finish it. "For someone who doesn't drink much, you've developed quite a taste for it."
She offered him a crooked, somewhat sleepy smile. "I think I like good Scotch," she said. "As medicine, of course."
"Of course," he agreed dryly. He made himself more comfortable, swinging his legs onto the mattress and leaning back against the walnut headboard. He took one of the loose pillows and stuffed it behind the small of his back. "Much better," he said, satisfied.
He looked askance at her. During his adjustments she had edged from the center to the far side of the bed. "There was no need for you to move. I'm not going to attack you, but I can hardly reach you if you remain over there." He saw her hesitate, mulling his words.
Finally she seemed to see the sense of what he was saying and scooted toward him. He fluffed a goosedown pillow and slipped it behind her back.
When she turned on her side toward him her knees bumped his. The strap of her nightshift slid over her left shoulder again.
He noticed that when she attempted to pull it up her movements were slow and awkward, almost disjointed. The liquor had swiftly taken its toll. He hadn't considered that she may have been drinking earlier as he had. Watching her now it seemed likely. Under his breath he said, "We're a fine pair."
She frowned, looking at him oddly, but made no comment.
He leaned back, exposing the strong line of his throat, and closed his eyes. "I can't remember when I've had a longer day," he said, sighing.
She looked at the gilded clock on the mantel. "New day."
"I suppose it is. And it's starting just the same way." In bed with a whore. His mouth curled to one side as he considered this turn of events in a new light. At least this whore wasn't a relation. He should be thankful for that. "God, I'm tired."
"Rest," she said softly.
He shook his head but his eyes didn't open. "It's a nice offer," he said, "but not the reason I came here. I should see to you.
You've obviously been waiting."
"I didn't mind," she said with effort. "Mrs. Hall made me comfortable."
He heard the faint slur in her words, the singsong cadence that hinted at the effects of the liquor. He wondered at her comfort.
The room was relatively spartan compared to others he had seen. "This isn't much," he observed.
She paused, then said with quiet conviction. "My experience says it's better than the streets."
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I suppose it is."
She held his gaze for a long moment before breaking away.
"You're flushed again," he said. He laid his hand lightly on her bare shoulder. His thumb brushed the pulse in her throat. "Your heart's racing."
She nodded guilelessly.
"Why don't you drop that cover a little and let me have a look."
She hesitated.
He nudged the blanket a fraction lower with the heel of his hand.
"How am I supposed to examine you if I can't see you?"
She considered this.
He added, "You have some expectations, I assume."
"Not many.
It was said so matter-of-factly, he gave a shout of laughter. "Oh, you have been treated poorly! That doesn't speak well for men like myself." Brooking no argument, he pushed the comforter aside. His fingers slid along the deeply-cut neckline of her nightshift and rested lightly on the uppermost button. He raised his dark brows in a silent question.
She laid a hand over his and shook her head. "I'll do it."
The husky catch in her voice intrigued him. He let the sound of it wash over him as he watched her fingers fiddle with the top button.
"You're not a chatterbox."
She wasn't looking at him. Her concentration on the button was complete. "No," she said quietly. "I'm not."
"Another," he said.
She glanced at him, her eyes shaded by thick lashes.
He pointed to her hand. "Another button, please."
Her fingers were clumsy but she managed to slip the button through its hole. The neckline of her nightshift parted as her hands dropped away, revealing the curves of her breasts.
Her skin looked very smooth, he thought, and soft. The back of his fingers touched her breast. "That flush of yours starts about here," he said.
She said nothing, simply watched his hand.
Her heart was thudding against his fingertips. He smiled.
"There's nothing wrong with your heart." He cupped the underside of her breast and her heartbeat, rather than her flesh, seemed to fill the palm of his hand. He opened another button. "Come closer," he said.
When she didn't move immediately his hands slipped around her rib cage to urge her nearer. The other strap of her nightshift fell.
No matter where he touched her he could feel her heart thudding.
He laid one hand on her back near her shoulder blade. Her breathing was light and shallow. He leaned forward, his mouth near her ear.
"Take a deep breath," he said. "That's it. Hold it."
His hand rubbed her back. "Let it out slowly." Her heart steadied; her breathing slowed. "Better," he said. "For a moment there I thought you might faint."
"So did I," she sai d gravely. "I'm a little dizzy."
He released her. "Why don't you lie down?"
She didn't hesitate. "All right." Shifting on the bed, she brought the pillow under her head. She started to close her nightdress but he stopped her. Except for the exposed outer curves of her breasts she was still modestly covered. The glimpse of her skin was tantalizing.
He savored the thought of pushing aside the material and taking her nipple in his mouth.
"I don't have much success when it comes to patience," he said, touching her cheek again. Her dark green eyes were searching his face, her smile gentle and encouraging.
"I think you're doing fine," she said.
She was possibly the most artlessly provocative woman he had ever encountered. He surprised himself again by not merely enjoying it, but savoring it. "Why, thank you," he said. "It's good of you to encourage me."
Her smile deepened as her eyelashes lowered sleepily. "I hope to do so one fine day."
"So you admit you have something to learn?"
Her short, emphatic nod was interrupted by an abrupt yawn. She stretched a little, slipping one arm under the pillow as she turned on her side.
He couldn't help notice her movement had completely uncovered one breast. Her nipple was puckered, the coral tip a hard bud. He was amazed to find himself swallowing hard, like a schoolboy confronted with his first naughty French postcard. "So you're willing to learn a thing or two from me?"
"I'd like that very much."
Once again her grave sincerity made him chuckle. "You're something of a surprise," he said. "Not what I expected when I walked in here this evening."
She snuggled deeper into the pillow. "Hmmm."
One of his brows kicked up. "Are you going to fall asleep?" The languid shake of her head was not encouraging. He was regretting sharing his liquor with her. In a fluid motion he slid out of bed and began stripping off his clothes. His pristine white shirt joined the jacket and vest on the wing chair. He pushed his shoes near the apron of the fireplace and tossed his stockings next to them. His trousers and drawers were carelessly thrown over the arm of the chair.
In spite of his haste, when he reached the bed he realized he hadn't been fast enough.
His lady of the evening was as unaroused as he was aroused. He was tired enough to be philosophical about it. He'd remember this the next time he asked for a whore who didn't talk much.
Apparently she was not prepared to use her mouth for anything else either.
He raised the comforter and sheet and slipped in beside her, turning her on her side away from him so her sleek back and bottom was nestled against his chest and groin. His hand sought out the opening of her nightshift and he laid his palm in the valley of her breasts. His chin rested close to the crown of her head and the damp fragrance of her hair teased his senses.
He slept.
When he awoke she was all over him. The pins in her hair had disappeared and the long fall of dark red spilled over his shoulder and chest. Her mouth was tasting his skin just above his nipple.
The damp edge of her tongue licked at the sweet and salty flesh. He drew in a shaky breath as one of her hands slid down his abdomen.
Lower.
Lower still. And cupped his arousal.
He groaned. Her hand stilled. He laid his fingers over hers and encouraged her exploration, her stroking. It wasn't long before it wasn't enough.
Her legs tangled with his as he twisted and rolled her onto her back.
His knee separated her thighs. He felt the vibration of her whimper against his skin, then the full outline of her lips on his.
Her mouth was hard and hungry. The edge of her tongue teased him.
She moved restlessly, searching, stretching. He could feel the outline of her breasts, the exquisite, tender abrading of her nipples on his flesh as she pressed the length of her body to him.
One of her hands slid along the back of his neck. Her fingers sifted through the thick, dark strands at his nape. A shiver tore along his spine as her nail lightly curved along the outer edge of his ear.
He raised his head and saw the faint outline of her smile, the sleepy cat-green eyes, and recognized the reflection of his own lust.
She arched, turning her head at the exact moment his mouth would have fused with hers. His lips scraped her cheek, her jaw line, then finally the curve of her neck. Her hands stroked his back and learned the ridges of hard, bunched muscle as he moved over her.
His skin retracted in anticipation of her touch. He wanted her hands everywhere, doing everything; he told her so, whispering against her ear in a voice so husky in its need that he hardly knew it as his own.
The palms of her hands slid along his shoulders, down his arms, passing over his ribs and around to the small of his back.
She paused at the base of his spine, teasing him with touches that chased sensation all the way to his toes. She clutched his buttocks, pressing his rock-hard need solidly to her. She ground against him, delivering the same message with her mouth, her tongue circling his, pushing, probing.
He didn't know if anyone had ever wanted him the way this woman did.
Then he remembered he was paying her.
She was a whore.
Suddenly, surprisingly, he wished it were different.
He moved himself away from her, adjusting his position, smiling when she reached for him blindly. He brushed her hand aside as he knelt between her legs. He pushed back her raised knees and raised her buttocks and when she reached for him again he plunged into her.
She cried out.
The sound of it made him want something else. He wished it were his name he heard and not just a wild, animal cry. He withdrew, thrust again. She was tight. And hot. She surrounded him, held him.
She reached for his forearms, grasped him, ran her palms over his muscles. She arched. He was deep inside her. Her nails made crescents on his skin. His fingertips pressed whitely against her flesh.
He felt her accept his rhythm, the force of his thrusts, and knew she was caught in the same spiral of passion as he. He watched her head move from side to side, her mouth parted, her throat exposed.
There was a flush to her breasts and a sheen of perspiration that made her skin glow in the lamplight.
There was a catch in her voice as she sipped the air. His own breathing was harsh. He felt tension as a hot, licking flame just beneath the surface of his skin. His muscles were pulled taut, need driving him into her again and again.
It was a fierce, selfish pleasure that overtook him in the end. He strained against her as he climaxed. Tension unfolded, dissolved.
He spilled into her, unable to call back his moan as he collapsed against her.
Almost immediately he was asleep.
* * * Lisa Antonia Hall fingered the string of pearls at her neck like worry beads. "I had no idea it would take you this long to get here," she told the man in front of her. "What's the good of keeping you on retainer if I can't depend on you?"
