Miss Minnie and the Brass Pluggit (21 page)
He knew, clever man. His hips eased their pace as his hands moved more quickly, his powerful thrusts timed to coincide with his touch on her clitoris. It was insane madness, unspeakable bliss and she found herself surrendering to her orgasm almost before she realized it was on her.
She cried out then, cried his name, her hands reaching for him, her mind flying off somewhere far beyond the lights of the Brass Pluggit.
And he was with her, buried to his balls, his body pressed hard against hers, throbbing as he emptied himself into her, filling her, and yes—completing her.
It was not complex, nor athletic. It was quick and over much too soon.
But as they tumbled into a heap, limp and sated, Minnie wondered if she’d ever be loved that way again. And realized she probably wouldn’t.
It had been the moment when she knew destiny sat next to her on the bed. The moment when she knew that not only did she love this man, but that he was her mate and there would be no other man in her life who would ever be as important.
And this man, this overwhelming loving presence who she so adored, tucked his face into her neck and snored.
She shifted and giggled, waking him a little. “Move over. I need the cover.” She tugged the quilt over them both.
“I’ll get a bigger bed when we’re married.”
She paused. “We’re getting married?”
“Yes.” He turned over. “Of course we are. You’re pregnant.” And he went to sleep.
Leaving a rather confused Minnie lying beside him…wondering…
Epilogue
“Have you heard from Felicia?” Minnie looked up as Pierce walked into the living room and glanced at the sun dancing on the waves.
“Not since they arrived in London.” He shook his head. “I’m sure she and Dusk are doing fine.”
“Hmm.” Minnie frowned. Dusk and Felicia had been overjoyed to stand up for them at the wedding, which had taken place within a fortnight of the whole Godolphin business. But since they’d chosen to honeymoon at the Pluggit, the other couple had elected to return to London and take care of some of Felicia’s business matters while allowing the newlyweds the privacy of an isolated lighthouse on the coast of the Isle of Wight. It didn’t get much more private than that.
They would return, but as of now there’d been a definite scarcity of communication.
“Besides, they know we’re on our honeymoon.” Pierce grinned over the newspaper he’d brought with him. “I’m sure they think we’re spending all our time in bed, naked, doing terribly depraved things to each other.”
She laughed. “Terribly depraved?”
“Definitely.”
“Didn’t we cover terribly depraved things last Tuesday?”
“Yes, but I think we might have missed a couple.”
“Oh?” Minnie tried to keep the note of curiosity out of her voice, but clearly failed, since Pierce walked over, stood behind her chair and slid his palms down to cup her breasts.
He leaned over and kissed her upside down. “And even if we didn’t miss anything, I’m more than willing to go over them again. Just in case.”
She sighed with delight. “Me too.”
“Oh, by the way, there’s a short article in the London paper about some ship blowing up in the Solent.”
Minnie closed her eyes as Pierce’s fingers found their way beneath her shirt to bare skin. “Really?”
“Yes.” He toyed with her in the way he’d discovered turned her insides to jelly. “And I’m sad to say that a certain M.P. is resigning his seat in Parliament.”
“How sad.”
“He’s retiring to the country.”
“Good for him. He should stay there if he’s smart.” Minnie moved a little, making sure Pierce’s hands covered all the right places.
“Given the rumors of his financial problems, I think he will.”
“That’s nice.” She definitely wasn’t paying attention to his words. His touch was all she could concentrate on at the moment.
“Mmm.” He spread the sides of her blouse apart, letting the sunshine dapple her bare skin. “It is indeed.”
“No mention of anything
we
need worry about, Dr. Lowell?” Her hands came up to cover his, pressing them against her tender breasts.
“Not a damn thing, Mrs. Lowell. Not a damn thing…” He sighed with pleasure at her tiny moan. “Now, about a name for our son…”
About the Author
Born and raised in England, Sahara Kelly now calls herself an American, but manages to keep in touch with her heritage by making sausage rolls and watching the occasional rerun of
Blackadder
. Her family understands—being partial to a bit of British food now and again—and also appreciates the fact that she disappears into her own world for extended periods of time. Writers tend to do that, she tells them. And Sahara knows she’s blessed to be able to do what she loves—write! Genres are fields through which she dances merrily, pausing for a contemporary, then moving on to a fantasy or two with a wave to historicals if the wind is in the right direction.
There’s always something cooking on her hard drive (besides those sausage rolls), and she’s thrilled to have found a new field to play in—Steampunk! With a grown family, Sahara now has plenty of time to explore the written word and indulge herself in plot, characters, passion and desire. The many books in her backlist have taught her some of the steps to this literary dance, but she’s continually challenged by a new pattern or rhythm. For her, it’s a symphony she hopes will continue unabated. And she loves to share the experience with her readers.
You can write to her at
[email protected]
or find out more at:
Look for these titles by Sahara Kelly
Now Available:
Flavia’s Flying Corset
Coming Soon:
The Facilitator
Love lifted her heart to the skies. The rest of her needed a little more help.
Flavia’s Flying Corset
© 2010 Sahara Kelly
A
Silk, Steel and Steam
Story
When Flavia Winters enters the aerial carriage that will convey her across churning waters to the magnificent, isolated castle of Dr. Harland Gennaro, it’s not a polite social call. Nor does she hope to re-ignite their former passion. Oh, no. She’s convinced the renowned scientist stole something of value from her lab, and she plans to get it back by
whatever
means necessary.
Once Harland blinks away the temporary blindness caused by Flavia’s clever magnesium beads, he finds himself tied to a chair as she insists he return a vital ingredient for some impossibility called “Icarus”. Then she demonstrates with the last of her compound, and all he can think about is convincing her he’s not the guilty party—and getting into the lab with her to recreate her gravity-defying wonder.
Side by side, they burn the midnight oil making new discoveries, and re-learning old ones about each other. As an ocean storm rises with their desire, though, skullduggery is afoot. A thief watches and waits for the moment they make a discovery that could be their last.
Warning: Reading this book may stimulate an interest in the principles of physics, aerodynamics and the science of sexual arousal. The author is not responsible for any injury incurred while investigating all three topics simultaneously.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Flavia’s Flying Corset:
Harland prided himself on the efficiency of his unique home, in fact he’d put several years worth of thought into the additional design elements. Thus he was able to provide a suitable meal to start the day. At least he thought it was suitable. Tea, of course. Toast, not too badly burned. Some marmalade Mountjoy had recommended and he’d approved. Of course, he had a suspicion that Mountjoy was walking out with the marmalade maker, but that was his business, not Harland’s.
The butter was cool, as was the milk for tea. Harland’s icebox system was one of his many accomplishments. The use of the largest local resource—the ocean and its salty water—combined with an ingenious extraction and circulation pump, well it worked quite well. He was proud of it.
Setting the dishes on the table in front of the windows, he wondered what Flavia would think about it. Then she walked in and he forgot everything he’d planned on asking her.
Glowing skin, hair soft and falling down a little here and there—she was a vision from his dreams. Her smile lit a fire in his breeches, an occurrence that seemed to be part of his every waking minute since she’d stepped onto Roman Rock and back into his life. Even in the more casual attire she’d chosen, she was the answer to his every sensual dream.
He had a very difficult time not going to her, stripping her free of those clothes and taking her all over again on the Axminster rug. Perhaps from behind again, her buttocks white and round, begging for the touch of his hand, his mouth, his teeth—
“Oh, lovely. Tea. Just what I need.”
Well, it wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement for sex on the carpet. He gave himself a mental smack and just smiled. “I’m glad. We need to discuss some matters.”
“Yes. The plan.” She seated herself and glanced out of the window. “It’s very thick, isn’t it? The fog?”
He didn’t even bother looking, just set the toast rack near enough for her to reach and popped a small spoon into the marmalade jar. “Not unusual for this time of year. It may clear later, if the wind picks up a bit.”
Such mundane conversation, he mused. As if they hadn’t been naked and intimate such a short time ago.
“So tell me.” She bit down on a slice of toast. “You want to recreate Icarus.”
He nodded. “I do. That’s the first part of the plan. Simultaneously, I want to spread the word of what we’re doing.”
She tilted her head and watched him as he poured the tea. “How? Why?”
“The how is easy.” He gestured to the communications machine. “I’ll simply send a message to a few friends that you’ve honored me with your presence and that we’re working together on an exciting project you’ve developed.”
“And rumors will spread.”
“I hope so.” He nodded again. “The only person whose attention will be thoroughly intrigued should be the person who knows what
you’ve
been creating. Anybody else will simply think it’s just another scientific collaboration and not devote much interest to it.”
“It’s bait, isn’t it? Designed to lure the thief here perhaps?”
Approvingly, Harland smiled. “Yes. You’re quick to grasp the implications. Whoever stole your Icarus sample will wonder if we’re making more.”
She held up a hand. “There’s more to it than that. Whoever stole it has a piece roughly an ounce or so in size. He’ll try and duplicate it, of course. And that will be a futile endeavor.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t remember the
exact
measurements. My discovery of Icarus was—how can I put this—serendipitous?”
“You mean it was an accident?”
She sighed deeply. “Yes. Completely by accident. I wasn’t paying much attention since my attempts to create a wax additive weren’t paying off. I recall stirring in a little cedarwood essence to add a fragrance. Then I wiped off my worktable and probably got a little more dust and scrapings into it than I’d originally planned. I did sneeze too.”
“Oh good God. Don’t tell me that nasal effluvia is essential.”
She grinned. “No. But my sneeze lifted some vaporous dust, drifted it around and into the mixing dish I was using at the time. All these circumstances combined together and when I looked back at my compound, it was congealing into the form you saw.” She rubbed a hand over her nose in frustration at the memories. “Even then, it wasn’t until I had it in my hand…I was staring at it and wondering what on earth had gone wrong. I sighed and—”
“It elevated.”
“It did.” She shrugged. “I can’t begin to describe my surprise.”
“The exhalations. The contents of your breath. Gases caused a reaction.”
“That was my assumption, yes.”
“Good. I probably have the ingredients we’ll need.” He nearly rubbed his hands together in enthusiasm, but managed to restrain the impulse.
“Don’t get too excited. I’ve tried for so long to duplicate it. I’ve had no success whatsoever.” Her mouth turned down.
“Never underestimate the power of two heads, which is, as they like to say, sometimes better than one.”
She flicked him a mildly irritated glance over the rim of her teacup. “I made the damn stuff. If I can’t do it again, I’m not sure how having you hovering over me is going to help matters.”
“Testy.” He grinned.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to be. But you’ve arrived at the point where my frustration knows no bounds.”
“We’ll take it step by step. I’ll sneeze if I have to.”
“Gracious. Why didn’t I think of that?” She raised an eyebrow dryly.
“Trust me, Flavia. Between the two of us, we should be able to succeed.”
“And if we do, then what?”
“Then…
then
we hope the lure of more Icarus, or perhaps the idea of a written formula, will be sufficient to entice your thief.”
