The Merry Widow Read online

  “When you frown, it takes away from the beauty of your eyes,” he offered. His finger trailed down her nose and settled on her upper lip.

  Phillipa bit her lip as his words and his touch sent her stomach into somersaults.

  “And you shouldn’t bite your lip either. It detracts from their enticing fullness.”

  “You think my lips are enticing?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, his finger tracing her lips. “But for me to be a hundred percent sure, I must be allowed to taste them.” His fingers trailed from her lips to slide along her jaw. Instinctively she turned her head towards his touch. A sigh escaped her slightly parted lips and a jolt of heat shot down her spine when his thumb brushed her cheek.

  “I think that would be most inappropriate,” she breathed. “But since these are special circumstances—”

  “Then a kiss would be most warranted,” he finished for her. The sensual timbre of his voice effectively stemmed her growing anxiety at allowing a complete stranger such liberties. So much so that she didn’t move when he lowered his head and placed a light kiss on each of her cheeks.

  Even though she should have, she didn’t protest when he melded his muscular frame against her own, his hard chest flattening her ample bosom and his cock pressing suddenly and hard against her belly.

  While he nibbled on her lips, Phillipa parted her own without any coaxing from him. Not because she’d suddenly found it difficult to breath, but because she was eager to enjoy the pleasures of a kiss once again. And caution be damned. After being alone for so long, she would no longer be denied.

  “Kiss me please,” she urged. Reaching up, she placed her palms on his broad shoulders, and rubbed them against the warm wool of his evening jacket. To her surprise, the slight friction of her skin against the course fabric sparked her rising ardor. Wanting more, she slipped her hands inside the tailored garment and slid her hands greedily over the soft linen of his shirt. To her delight, his muscles bunched and rolled under her touch.

  She opened her mouth again, this time to demand that he kiss her. But his mouth slashed across hers, cutting off her words. Instead of a chaste pressing of lips, the sort she’d read about so often in throwaway novels, his tongue pushed past her lips to plunder her mouth.

  For several moments she just lay there. His kisses assaulted her basic tendencies almost to the point of overwhelming her. However, as his tongue swirled inside her mouth and touched pressure points that triggered long-dormant sensations, she finally awakened to desire. Her nipples grew and distended. And a vibration, one she’d not experienced in several years, settled between her thighs.

  Attuning herself to his mouth’s movements, she began to match them. When his tongue flicked at the top of her mouth, she followed suit. When he nipped at her bottom lip, she bit his as well.

  When did I forget to breathe? she wondered while their tongues dueled. When did the simple act of breathing become secondary to being kissed by him? She might die of suffocation, but she didn’t break off their kiss even when she became light-headed and fell into him.

  She must have startled him. He unexpectedly pulled away from her, his chest heaving as he supported her in his arms. Feeling strangely bereft, she grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him back to her. But he shook his head.

  “No, ma petite fille. I’m greedy for your other lips,” he purred.

  She looked at him in confusion. The change in his eyes gave her pause. Where they’d once been light brown, they were now an inky black, their depths swirling with desire.

  “M-m-my other lips?” she asked, her voice rising on the last syllable because his hand unexpectedly bunched into her gown. Her hem was rising faster than the River Thames at high tide.

  Her heartbeat quickened when his hand disappeared under her skirt and slowly traveled over her silk stocking and up the inside of her thigh. She gasped when he made quick work of her drawers, laying them open to questing fingers that dipped inside and parted the crisp curls covering her quim.

  “Yesss, ma petit fille. I want to taste you here.”

  He’d called her his little girl! That and the hand resting against her womanhood sent a shiver of pleasure shooting through her body. Even her toes curled with wanting. Phillipa reached down to the hem of her dressing gown and hiked it over her hips. She brushed away the last of her reserve and allowed her thighs to fall open in invitation. Her gaze swung to meet his again so she could gauge his reaction. She had to suppress a nervous giggle as a lascivious grin lit his full sensual lips.

  But all humor flew out of the window when he shifted and came to kneel in front of her. She visibly tensed when he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the inside of her knee.

  “Shhh. There is no need to feel tense. Just lie back and enjoy,” he whispered. His fingertips brushed the sides of her thighs and his hands settled on either side of her hips, lifting her buttocks and drawing her towards him.

  She was unprepared for the fire that ignited in the pit of her stomach when his tongue sliced through her curls and parted her nether lips. He licked her once and then again and again until she was completely open to him. He took the tiny throbbing nubbin into his mouth and rolled it around his tongue several times before his lips closed around it.

  Rattled to her very core, she cried out and reached to steady herself, for she now felt out of her realm. When her hands found him, she twined her fingers into his sable curls and a low, feral growl erupted from him that both exhilarated and frightened her.

  Suddenly filled with self-doubt, she pushed at his shoulders. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I will not do anything that you don’t want me to, Phillipa,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the inside of her thigh.

  She gasped and clutched at his hair as the faint spattering of hairs along his jaw line tickled the delicate area.

  “So would you like for me to finish?” he asked, his voice unbelievably even.

  “If I say yes, will you not push me for more?” She was more certain of her crumbling reserve than his, if truth be told.

  “As I said, ma petite fille, I will not do anything that you do not want me to. Now may I continue?”

  She breathed, “Yes.” And cried out as he buried his head between her legs once again.

  As if he had all the time in the world, he traced the lucky pair of lips with his tongue before slicing through the tight curls covering her sex opening her to him.

  “Oh!” she cried as he started to lick, suck, and nibble at her most sensitive flesh. Yet in spite of the immense pleasure she derived from his lovemaking, she tensed when his tongue rimmed the entrance to what was once again virgin territory. But young Reggie would not be denied in this, because his tongue plunged inside before she could forestall him.

  “Oh, Reggie!” Her hips lifted of their own accord, but a calming hand on her belly brought her down to earth once more. Then the tongue spearing her hot channel sent her soaring to the heavens.

  “Reggie! I think I’m going to faint.” She was panting. “Please stop!”

  But he didn’t.

  In self-preservation, she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d become lightheaded. Her world spun, but her inner turmoil only increased with the thrusting of his tongue.

  In and out, in and out his tongue thrust, filling her, driving her to some unforeseeable pinnacle.

  Her world darkened and then burst into a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting multicolored patterns. Her body felt light as a feather as she catapulted over an invisible chasm that separated her mind from her body.

  ***

  She wasn’t sure how long she lay there unconscious, but ample time must have passed because her limbs felt heavy and lethargic when she moved to sit up. Yet she found that difficult because a pair of muscular arms trapped her against a hard chest.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  When her vision focused, a set of pearl buttons lining the front of a man’s evening shirt came into view. She pulled back s
lightly, allowing her gaze to shift higher until her eyes met his. And as before, she was taken aback at how handsome her companion was, his features so classically perfect they appeared to be carved by a skilled artisan.

  Too bad we met under these circumstances. Catching her momentary lapse of common sense she bristled at the notion. What am I thinking? Even if they had met under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t work. She would be the laughingstock of her set if she let it be known she was infatuated with a much younger man, especially once he grew tired of her, which was a certainty.

  Not only was he too handsome for his own good, he was much too young for her. To strengthen her resolve and nullify her silly dreams, she asked, “How old are you?”

  He smiled at her. “I reached my twenty-eighth year this past May.”

  He was ten years her junior! It was worse than she first believed. Shuddering with self-reproach, she pulled away from him. “I think you should be going now. Your payment is there, next to the tea service. Oscar will see you out.”

  “When can I see you again?” he asked, his brown eyes searching her face.

  She returned his gaze. And despite her better judgment, she knew she wanted to see him again as well. “I will contact Madame Valant—”

  “There is no need for that! I will handle the necessary arrangements, because the Madame is my benefactor. Since that is settled, may I see you three days hence?”

  “Why so soon? I’m sure you have other clients to tend to.”

  “None.”

  At her raised eyebrow, he paused. A slow smile curled the corners of his full lips. “Well, at least none who could compare with your company. And as far as I’m concerned, a week is too long to have to wait to enjoy the pleasure of your companionship again.”

  Phillipa chuckled at his play of words. This was only business for him, but deep down she knew she would be counting the days until she would see him again, foolish romantic that she was.

  Hell’s bells, what am I thinking? What happened to the pragmatic businesswoman who could put a swarthy sea captain in his place? Who was this creature that buckled under the slightest inducement from a young, handsome swain? The former Phillipa would have put him in his place for making such overtures. Of course, the former Phillipa had been miserable of late and had gone so far as to procure a hired man.

  Her choice made, she conceded to his request. “Very well. I will receive you in three days, here in my bedchamber, and at the same appointed hour.”

  “Until Friday,” he whispered against her lips, but instead of sealing the promise with a kiss, he suddenly rose and left the room. When he shut the door behind him, only then did she realize he’d left his payment behind.

  The Merry Widow: Chapter 4

  As he entered the boudoir, the lady at the mirror set down the silver-plated hairbrush onto the gilded dressing table and cried, “Reggie! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Selene swiveled to face him, her pale blue dressing gown slipping down over one of her milky shoulders.

  Reggie smiled to himself. Her every movement had always been done for effect, and as usual, his body reacted to her.

  Taking her offered hand, he brought it to his lips. “Selene,” he breathed, kissing the delicate skin of her wrist. Instead of releasing her hand, he cradled it in his as he took his seat beside her on the dressing bench. He leaned forward and placed his nose in her pale locks and breathed deeply. “Hmmm, why did I ever let you go?”

  “Ha!” She snorted. “It was I let you go when your eyes wandered to a certain American actress who crossed the pond pours ses tour d’Europe. And rogue that you are, you took it upon yourself to escort her personally.” Her mood now changed, she pulled her hand from his and turned to take up her brush.

  When she moved to resume her toilette, he reached out and covered her hand with his. “Allow me. You know I always took great pleasure in helping you to dress your hair.”

  Selene hesitated before handing him the brush. “So why are you here?” she asked, watching his reflection in the mirror. “We both know it is not to rekindle our liaison.”

  “You wound deep, chéri.”

  Closing her eyes, she chuckled softly. “Just being practical, plus I know you better than anyone else.”

  Reggie’s hand stilled mid-stroke. “You always have, I’m afraid.”

  “So?” she prompted. “I am eager to learn why you would come here at this early hour to discuss business.”

  “I’ve come here to ask that you separate ties with one of your clients.”

  “I should have known. Which one?” she drawled.

  “Mrs. Phillipa Jones.”

  Selene’s eyes snapped open. When they met his, a storm brewed in their cerulean depths. If she wanted to fight him for this, he was prepared to do battle. Nothing would stand in the way of him keeping the Widow Jones to himself.

  “Pour quelle raison?” she asked pulling free from him.

  “She contracted your services last night, I understand.”

  Selene nodded slowly. “Yes, Gervaise went to her home. But he told me he was turned away by an officious housekeeper, who said he was too late.”

  “That will continue to be the case,” he said. “After last night, she is no longer in need of your services.”

  A frown creased the delicate bow of her mouth. “After last night? You mean, you—” She was quiet a moment, then said, “No longer in need, is she? I see. Well, how long will that lack of need last? A month, perhaps two?”

  “Indefinitely.”

  “Indéfiniment?” Selene’s tinkling laughter floated to the bedchamber’s vaulted ceilings. “Do you think I am a fool, chéri? That I would believe one of London’s most notorious rakes was looking to settle down with only one woman? Tu n’est pas sérieux!”

  Expecting this response, he held his ground. “I am serious enough to come here at the break of dawn to request this favor of you, Selene. It’s true that in the past I wouldn’t have cared to learn I had lost one of my paramours to another man. But it does matter with Mrs. Jones. She’s different.”

  “Why this one?”

  Reggie stiffened, taking offense at the question. “Why not her?”

  Selene shrugged. “You could always have your pick of any one of those glittering birds that flock around you. Phillipa Jones is not one of those birds. She is made from a different cloth.”

  “Precisely.”

  Selene tilted her head. “So that is what makes her so appealing to you, non?”

  “Perhaps. So you will do me this favor?”

  Selene took up her brush again.“Bien sûr, ma chéri.”

  With a triumphant smile curling his lips, he leaned down and kissed her shoulder in gratitude. “I thank you, Selene. You don’t know how much this means to me.” His body abuzz with excitement, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

  “Oh, but I do,” Selene called. “You should have seen your expression whilst you awaited my reply. You reminded me of an eager schoolboy awaiting permission to be let out to play. It would have broken my heart to crush such unabashed enthusiasm.”

  His steps slowed. He turned to face her. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Clearer than a Gallé vase! That is why I conceded to your request. Mrs. Jones has arrested your attention after a brief encounter. I’m hoping before all is said and done she may do the same to your heart.”

  Reggie frowned. “’Tis a brave assumption, Selene, but as you and I both know, I do not have one.”

  “I’m not so sure any longer, ma chéri. I’m not so sure.”

  ***

  By Friday morning, Phillipa had to take deep breaths to calm her anticipation. Bea, of course, noticed her agitation as she brought in breakfast. “Do ye require anything else, ma’am?”

  Phillipa glanced up at her housekeeper and gifted her with a smile. “No, thank you, Bea. Everything appears to be in order.” Ignoring her housekeeper’s concerned expression, she glanced down at the Chinoiserie bre
akfast tray. After yet another sleepless night, she needed something more than the tray containing her customary morning paper, Masala chai, toast, and a bowl of fruit.

  Bea shook her head. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll be up in an hour to help you dress.”

  Phillipa waited until the door closed with a soft click before reaching under the pillows and pulling out the teak gift box. The box and the object it contained were a gift from Harry before a three-month voyage to Asia. Setting it on her lap, she traced the engraved depiction of Eros awakening Psyche from a deep sleep.

  This time it wasn’t a three-month voyage that separated her from the passions of a man. Only three nights. And this last night was spent thinking about what was to come. It was near dawn when she remembered Harry’s gift and its pleasures. This box hadn’t been opened since Harry’s death. Yet despite the bittersweet ache in her breast and the pangs of guilt she’d wrestled with, she could no longer resist the siren’s call. The ache between her legs, brought on by her desire for a rent boy ten years her junior, far outweighed her feelings of self-reproach.

  Phillipa dropped her head in her hands. Oh, Harry, why did you have to love me so well? My lusts have turned me into a wanton woman. Instead of my need diminishing with Reggie’s absence, it has only intensified.

  Worrying her bottom lip, she raised the box’s lid. Nestled in a bed of purple velvet lay an ivory dildo, intricately carved with several bodies entwined in the throes of sex. She licked her lips in anticipation as she hitched her dressing gown around her hips. She untied her drawers, slid them down her legs and kicked them aside. She lay back against the pillows, her legs spread wide and the ivory toy plucked from its protective cradle. She shivered in delight when the cool morning air touched her exposed sex.