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aphrodisiacs.

His lips trailed down to the hollow of her throat, leaving a burning

trail on her skin and pooling heat in her sex. Tension coursed in her veins making every touch like an ominous rumble of thunder with the

reverberations sounding in her heart.

Tonight would be their last night, and yet she wanted to hold herself

back from the pain. But she couldn't. She couldn't give him less than all of her. If she held back she would always regret what could have been

the most precious night of her life. And she would never let herself have another chance to make up what might have been. Tonight was it, and

she would make it all that she could, for him and her.

So as he kissed her, trailing his tongue around the shell of her ear,

she laid her heart down in an offering.

Pieces of clothing fell on the floor like cast off present wrappings

and the cool air caressed her, making the heat from his hands that

skimmed over every inch of flesh scorch.

Her heart cried for more and surcease all at once, but his hands were

on her, soothing her, drawing her under his spell. He bound her with

silken cords of whispered words and kisses until she knew that when the

evening ended she would be picking up pieces of herself, and leaving in

shards.

He kneeled in front of her, holding her and pressing his lips into her

stomach and sliding his cheek along the softness of her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to pull him up.

He growled and inhaled her scent, slipping his fingers in her

wetness then kissing the hollow of her hip, making her thighs tremble.

Her heart burst with the words, but she smothered them with a moan

as his tongue found the apex of her folds, teasing them apart until she

was spread open before him.

She closed her eyes against the sight him feasting on her and

touching his shoulders, pulled him over her and sighed with his weight as 126

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he slid inside her, filling her almost until it hurt, her salty taste on his lips.

Her thighs gripped his hips, drawing him in, and wanting him

deeper still, up to her heart.

Instead he took her legs and slung them over his shoulders, her heels

bouncing on is back and he pounded into her. She pulled her legs down.

That's not what she wanted tonight. She needed him parallel, hip to hip, feet to feet. To have as much of her touching him as possible. For their tongues to meet, and their breath to mingle. This was the last she'd have of him.

She hooked her ankles around his and gripped him with her thighs,

pushing him in as far as he could. Then she pulled his shoulders down

until he lay on top of her completely.

Tension hummed through him, the need to move under his straining

muscles, but he lay there for her, still, until she lifted her hips up.

A rumble vibrated his chest and she lifted them up again, and this

time he met her, but gently, almost as if he were unsure.

She tormented herself more than he with her need to be so close and

filled. With his scent in her nose and body covering her, he had become

so hard that her pussy squeezed in small spasms around him.

She lifted her hips once again. "Please."

His wet forehead rested on her shoulder and he took a shuddering

breath, and on his exhale he impaled her starting a rhythmic drumming

of wet skin slapping. She didn't want it to end, but with every drive he ground himself into her so deeply she came, her cunt squeezing on him

to the point that she clenched her thighs, wailing in a low keen. Not a

moment later she felt his own orgasm fill her, still pumping as he

growled with his own release. Not sorry at all that just once he left his seed deep inside her.

* * * *

was getting angry.

"What do you mean no?"

She opened her eyes to look at him. "I would never be accepted in

your peer group. And I will not walk around proud of being your

mistress. Moreso, I can't do that to my family. And what if I became

pregnant?"

His heart stopped at the mention of children. He'd never even

thought of that, and considering that he himself was once homeless he

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knew for certain that she was wrong. Money coupled with ambition

washed all that away. Not the stink from your own nose, but it made you

less offensive to others. A ball of fire swirled in his chest as he fumbled to get the last button through its hole.

"You're full of shit. You're just scared."

Her head snapped back. "Maybe I am. But you're not a woman in

my position. I have nothing to offer other than what I am. Though that

may sound like enough, we both know it's not. I can't reinvent myself for you so that I'm accepted by your peers, and because I'm not a man, they'll hold all of it against me."

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. "If you won't

marry me then come live in the brownstone." Her eyes searched his face, looking for what, he didn't know. "I would be willing to take that if it was all you could give."

She took a deep breath. "I've said no, and I mean it. I won't. I can't hide away in alleys and be brought to secret assignations through

darkened streets, and I won't live in your house."

He would take anything he could get and he would do anything she

asked if it meant keeping her with him. "We could be circumspect."

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, "No."

He scrubbed his hands through his hair and walked away. "You

haven't given me a logical reason, and you can't think up many in favor

of you marrying me. The least being that I could help your family to stop this charade of palmistry that they use to dupe people."

It was as if all the air were sucked out of the room and time stopped.

"I didn't mean that they way it sounded."

She walked over and glared at him. "There is the exact reason for

me to not be your mistress or marry you. You never respected me to

begin with. I've never lied to a person about their readings. It may not be logical like money and math, but it's not some snake charmer oil. Always the charity case, I was." She picked up her cloak. "Well, I never once fucked you for money, and I'll be damned if I marry a man who loathes

my family so they can be taken care of. My mother would die of

mortification that I lowered myself to your standards." She walked out the door and stopped. "And another thing." She came back in. "My father was very well respected within this town, and he adored my mother. His

sadness as he died was that he wouldn't be able to protect her from the

gossip anymore. He never would have escorted her through back doors."

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She looked him up, and down and shook her head. "I'll get home by hired carriage."

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

"Goodbye, Caden."

At that she left and within moments he heard the front door slam,

and the crunch gravel from the drive. It was a grand finale for his perfect night. He poured himself a glass from the decanter and slung it back,

then poured himself another, whiskey splashing over the rim onto the

rug. It was perfect for a few hours. He had mistreated her, and he was

sorry. But being sorry now was too late.

He was good at strategizing at work, and he needed to bring that

specific talent to this situation. He was looking at this wrong. This

particular situation was not a loss, it was a negotiation. She just didn't realize it.

Unfortunately the perfect weapon for this problem would be harder

on her because while he would know his intent, she would be left to

wonder of his sincerity.

Patience.

Patience always won the siege. He knew she didn't feel indifferent

toward him, and that was his ace.

He would have to plan carefully and keep watch on her so that he

didn't wait too long.

* * * *

that he would have noticed. He had record gains this past quarter and was a cyclone of command that left some of his tellers crying over misplaced pennies. He felt a tinge of remorse, but didn't stop.

Spring would arrive soon and he'd not spoken to Abby since she left

his home. He'd kept watch, making sure they had coal and food, and that

she had taken no lovers. He couldn't blame her if she did, she didn't

know his plans, but the dread of his weekly reports coming back with

information on another man in her life was sometimes more than he

could bear. In that respect, the agony of his plan lay squarely on him.

Not any more, though. He'd word this morning that The Jennings'

were having a Spring Festival. Complete with fortune telling. He cleared his calendar, and within ten minutes secured an invitation. Tomorrow

night he would see her. He felt green, anticipation coursing through him.

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But would she still want him? Would she accept those parts of him

that he hadn't shown her yet? The ones he still hid? The parts of him that still dreamed of eating out of the garbage when he was nine, hiding

behind the restaurants and being yelled at to get out of the alley while they threw bottles at him? How he yelled out in his sleep as he dreamt

that they shattered above his head on the brick walls, shards of glass

falling in his shoulders like sharp rain. When he had those nightmares

would she look at him different in the morning? Or did she need him to

be the Caden that everyone else saw all the time?

He'd be finding out soon enough.

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Mrs. Jennings, their hostess, had gone all out in the spirit of the

season. Bouquets of tulips and hyacinth bulbs in their forcing glasses

were in every room. There was nowhere she could go to stop sneezing.

Other than allergies, spring was on its way and she, for one, was

elated. She'd spent far too long in the house dwelling on her last

conversation with Caden, and hoping every day that he would send her

some word that he wanted to see her.

At first she thought it was lust, pure and simple, but nothing was

ever just lust. Something in the psyche drew people, even to satiate lust.

Her mother told her that it was the recognition of the soul that brought two people together, even for short times. Never before had she

entertained that there was truth in her mother's beliefs.

But it wasn't just that. She missed him. His smile, the way he

smelled, and how he made her laugh. How she felt lying in his arms. The

heavy thick contentment that seeped into her bones afterwards. The sense of perfection, that no matter what lay on the other side of the door, there, with him, she was safe and loved.

Maybe she was a fool for not running to him at his office and

begging to be installed even as his mistress. Some days it was all she

could do to just stand at the locked door with her hand on the knob

forcing herself to not open it.

But she had withstood the temptation. She wanted him, but not

scraps, and not his disrespect. To love her was to love all of her, palm reading and strange mother included. He needed to be able to stand for

her and with her. At least, that's what she wanted.

She set the vase of tulips off to the side so she could see the room to

study the people milling about. It was a game she played trying to decide who would come sit for her readings. Her mother called that practice, but she just did it to occupy her time.

The party was exuberant and frothy, people milling about thankful,

just like her, that the sun decided to shine. Most of the women were

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dressed like petit fours and punch, and the men accordingly looked like

they wanted to eat them.

Had she always been oblivious to those looks between lovers? That

shared knowledge that made glances meaningful. Is that the way she and

Caden looked at each other and was it as easy to tell by the longing on

their faces?

She wanted to bang her head on the table. Could she go five minutes

without thinking about him?

It had been thirteen weeks and there was not a day that she didn't

think of him twenty times at least. She should be ashamed of herself.

Really. It was time to move on.

She took a deep breath and looked across the room to where her

mother and Camille were sitting with a few guests. Mother looked pretty, but tired. The stress of finances drained her and over the winter Abby

started to notice that the purplish bags never left from under her eyes and what once were fine lines, now were engraved.

Camille sat, oblivious to her mother and completely twitterpated

because a young man was paying attention to her.

"You look as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders."

Abby jolted and her hand flew to her mouth. "Caden?" She was too startled to stem the harsh tone in her voice.

"You don't sound too happy to see me."

Her heart caught in her throat as she drank him in. "I'm…you

surprised me."

His gaze arrested her as he took in every detail, goosebumps rising

on her skin where his eyes lingered. "I missed you."

Her cheeks burned under his examination.

"Would you like me to get you a drink?"

How was it fair that he looked more handsome than ever, his