Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (5 page)

Her back arched off the bed, her breathing coming in short gasps as he knelt between her thighs. He lowered himself, caging her with his arms and his weight as he gazed at her, seeking confirmation in her eyes that she belonged to him. She was so close, their need so intense. She ground her pelvis against him, eager to find her release if he was going to torment her. The pulsing ache threatened to overwhelm her.

“Not without me,” he murmured against her lips. He angled his hips and with one thrust, possessed her. Her body stretched to take him as he replaced the ache deep inside her with hot flesh. A shudder ran up his arms, as she locked her legs around his hips, holding him close.

The wave built inside her, pushing her closer to the edge. Sparks flew behind her closed eyelids. Her world consisted only of Nate, his weight, and the movement of their bodies.

“Only me,” he breathed hotly against her skin. He bit at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder joined, nipping the skin. “Promise me, it will only ever be me, no one else.”

He closed his mouth on her pulse and he sank his teeth into her as he thrust deep. The sharp flash of pain was the spark that ignited her body.

“Only you,” she cried before the orgasm slammed through her body and her mind splintered with pleasure. Nate’s release tore through him with a roar. She rode the aftershocks that rippled through her flesh with each spasm as he collapsed onto the bed and rolled her securely into his arms.

Dawn peered around the edge of the damask curtains where the two sides didn’t quite meet. A thin sliver of light trailed across the floor, reaching out to the large four poster bed. Nate’s arms encircled Cara as she lay with her head resting on his shoulder. Her hand drew lazy patterns over his forearm wrapped tight around her. Their two bodies joined, his shaft still buried deep inside her from his early morning loving. She had awoken to the delicious feel of his hard body behind her and his hands roaming over her skin as he stroked waves of languid pleasure inside her. A sigh of contentment escaped her throat. She had never felt so protected, desired, and safe.

His lips grazed her ear lobe. “I love you,” he murmured. “Be my wife.”

Cara lay immobile, basking in the moment of hearing the words from his lips for the first time. Then a snort of laughter welled up in her chest and burst free.

Nate froze for a moment before he rolled her in his arms. He pushed her under him, pressed her back into the mattress, and trapped with his weight on top. He seized her hands and trapped them either side of her head. Deep blue eyes held her gaze. “Did you just laugh at my declaration of love and marriage proposal? Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?”

“No. Yes.” She laughed. “
Be my wife,”
she mimicked his husky tone. “Not exactly the world’s most romantic proposal.” She arched her body, hoping to distract him when her breasts brushed against his chest.

He sucked in a breath. “Don’t distract me, wench.” He took both her hands in one of his larger ones and raised himself onto his elbow.

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout as she lost his heat and weight. Her body demanded skin contact, and she didn’t like him holding himself apart from her.

“It wasn’t a proposal. I can’t ask you to marry me.” He drew himself up onto his knees, straddling her narrow waist as she sought to distract him by rubbing lower. “I want you to be my wife.”

A frown crossed her forehead. His words started to sink in, her body paused in its constant quest to be pressed against his broad chest, or any other part of him she could reach. “Explain the difference to me. Have you got a viscountess tucked away somewhere?”

“It’s complicated.” He released her hands, drawing his knuckles down the side of her face in a tender gesture. “You’re already married.”

Cara tried to laugh it off and a retort welled up on her throat, but something in Nate’s intense gaze strangled the words before she could utter them. “Oh lordy,” she whispered as a heavy lump settled in her gut. “What do you know?”

He rolled off her, lay on his back, and let out a long sigh.

Cara leaned over him, her hands pressed over his chest. “You have to tell me, Nate. What is it?”

He ran a hand up over the nape of her neck and massaged her scalp. She leaned into his touch, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. “Three years ago I was on an airship from London to New York. It was a commercial line, not one of mine. I was toying with moving from cargo to passengers and wanted to gauge how successful the runs were.” He dropped his hand to capture hers, resting his palm over the top of her knuckles.

“On the same ship was a woman I had encountered seven years previously. I last saw her as a child, up a tree in Hyde Park, raining acorns down on her governess. Now she was all grown up. She was tall and lithe, but with curves that made me want to strip her bare and explore every inch of silken skin with my fingers, lips, and tongue. Her beautiful face was highlighted by short auburn hair that danced like contained firelight. She had hazel eyes that remind me of the sultry hidden depths of earth and trees.

“A male passenger decided a beautiful, young woman travelling on her own must be easy game. She taught him otherwise. He accosted her out on the observation deck, thinking to steal a kiss and lift her skirts to press his hands lower. She drew two knives and would have tossed him over the railing if another passenger hadn’t intervened.”

“You really have a habit of spying on me at inconvenient moments.”

He stroked the hair from her face and gazed at her with such open longing, the words dried up in Cara’s throat.

“I realised the kitten I saw that day in London had grown into a spirited and passionate woman. And I wanted her, whatever the price. I didn’t want anyone else to touch her.”

Her breath hitched. Viscount Lyons was a man who got what he wanted. He rained kisses on her face, covering her eyelids, her cheeks, and finally her lips. He kissed her lightly, brushing his mouth over hers before releasing her.

“Oh Nate, what have you done?” The lump in her gut transformed into full on dread.

“Get dressed. We’ll finish the story downstairs. I have to show you something.”

Wordlessly, she rose and padded through the bathroom to the other bedroom. She drew on buckskin pants, a short chemise, and a corset before heading barefoot downstairs. The house was silent; no sign of the other men yet, but now Nate was awake, they would materialise as though they stepped from the woodwork.

Nate drew back the study curtains, but the shaft of morning sunlight couldn’t dislodge the cold fear in Cara’s stomach.

ara stood in the middle of the study, her toes digging into the carpet. She wrapped her arms around her torso, waiting for Nate to resume his tale. Foreboding crept under her skin, and she rubbed her flesh, trying to banish the sensation.

Nate ran a hand over his head. His attempt to push back hair too short to be in his face was the only betrayal of his nerves. “I need to show you. I suspect you are going to demand proof from me of this story.” He stood before a painting of a young woman with lush red lips, a vivid blue headscarf, and a tear drop pearl earring. He lifted the priceless painting from the wall and revealed the iron door of the safe behind. He laid the artwork on the ground, propped up against the panelled wall before returning his attention to the safe.

His long fingers spun the numbers on the dial back and forth in rapid successful. A loud
click
came as the tumblers all aligned and released the mechanism. He swung the heavy safe door open, revealing a compartment with neat piles of bank notes, velvet bags with draw string tops, and folders of documents. He brushed the contents aside and reached toward the back of the safe. His fingers pressed the cold metal in the exact right spot and the back of the safe slid upward to disappear into a hidden cavity.

“A safe within a safe?” Cara stepped closer, her curiosity rising to the surface for a moment. “Ingenious.”

Nate extracted a slim, beige cardboard folder and pushed on the ceiling of the first safe. He activated a lever which dropped the second door, sealing the hidden safe. He carried the folder to his desk and opened the cover. He extracted two documents and laid them out for Cara to read. A small black velvet pouch was taped to the inside of the heavy cardboard. He pulled the bag free and undid the ribbon holding it shut, and then upended the contents over one of the documents. Out tumbled two rings, one smaller than the other, and they nestled side by side on the documents as though unwilling to be separated.

The two bands drew Cara’s attention first. They were identical except in size. Made of three types of gold: white, yellow and rose. They were intricate filigree Celtic love knots, each ring an endless circle of love and commitment.

The lump in her gut shifted as she slid the first document from under the rings. The entire page was covered in tightly written legalise. She flicked to the bottom and the two large, expressive, signatures: Viscount Lyons and Lord Devon.

Her gaze flew to Nate, and for once he didn’t match her stare. He turned to stand at the window, his back to her as he gave her time to read and absorb the contract in her hand. Through their bond pulsed worry, tinged with fear.

She started to read with a heavy heart. The document was a sales contract―of her. She flicked her gaze to Nate’s ramrod back before continuing to analyse the fine print. He had cleared her father’s gambling debts and advanced him a large sum of money. The money applied, firstly, to pay off outstanding debts against the Soho house. The remainder gave Lord Devon a small amount of capital to supplement his annuity from her mother’s estate. The house was transferred to Cara’s name. With the sale price fixed and paid in return Nate got Cara.

She picked up the second document; a marriage certificate signed by her father, Nate, and a solicitor. Only the space for signature of the bride remained blank.

“I’m going to be sick.” She dropped the paper back to the desk as though the fibres had poisoned her. “It was you. When father wrote that he was marrying me off by proxy, he meant to you.” The world shifted on its axis and the room spun in lazy circles. Cara pressed a hand to her forehead, grateful her stomach was empty of breakfast.