Rough Surrender (12 page)

“More, please.” She squirmed her bottom on the bed and looked up at his brown eyes–pleading.

“Enough.” He tapped her nose then kissed her softly on the lips. “You’ve had your share. I’m going to untie you and then we both need to get some sleep. I’ll leave before dawn and organize for your luggage to be sent here from the Orient.”

Enough? After doing that to her he was going to leave her like this? A sweet hunger possessed her groin. She made a frustrated noise in her throat.

“Was that a growl, little vixen?”

“No?” she said, hoping he’d accept the slight lie.

He dragged her in close and draped his leg over her thigh, shaped his hand to her pussy and left it there. “You forget I still have you at my mercy.” Though quiet, his voice hinted at baritone depths.

Oh, no, she had not forgotten she was at his mercy. Not when he looked clear through her like that, as if he saw into her darkest corners and unearthed her very last secret. Not when she lay sprawled on the bed naked with her breasts and pussy thrust upward by her bound arms under her back. Heat radiated from under his hand where it cupped her mound, like a minor sun melting its way into her flesh.

“No, sir. I’ve not,” she managed, voice low and rough. To better appreciate his touch she half lowered her lids.

“Good.”

Incredulous, yearning, she watched him descend on her breast, take the nipple into his mouth and, sweet heavens above, suck like a man who’d found a morsel of delicate fruit. She moaned through parted lips, curving herself up into that soft, devouring place.

He lifted his mouth. The wetness cooled on her nipple.

“Tonight has to end sometime, Faith. Besides, I think it’s best to leave you wanting.” With his forefinger, he traced a circle around her areola.

Tonight has to end?
She snapped her eyes fully open. True, yet the idea crashed into her with the force of a hurricane. She didn’t want it to end. Then she recalled his other words...
best to leave you wanting.

Did he think that just because she crawled at his feet when he made love to her that she’d do the same elsewhere, at other times? She searched his face for clues.
Nothing
. Blast the man, did he ever twitch or flinch or anything?’

She remembered the menacing, overpowering man she’d first met who’d made her sizzle and yet attracted her so very much. He was still overpowering, and she loved that part of him–but she’d also seen him smile these last few hours. When he did, it had been like the sun appearing on a wintry day. He’d changed in some way...because of her?

She sighed. “You won’t make me marry you, sir, just because I crave your touch.” Like a rider settling back on a well-known horse she felt her own
self
reasserting. Being tied up and having orgasms was a small part of her life. Marriage was a huge decision. Surely he’d been joking?

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but notice his baldness. It set him off as someone unusual, like a pure masculine animal...waiting to pounce, on her. She shuddered.

“I should check my property.” After sitting up on his heels, he effortlessly flipped her onto her stomach. “Stay there.” He placed his hand on her ass and pressed down.

A vulnerable position. Facedown on the bed, bottom up, it emphasized that new strange place inside her that responded to him. Off balance in an instant, quivering, she shut her eyes and waited for his next command. Liquid seeped from her cleft. She did want him so. Oh, she did.

After a few seconds, a familiar scratching told her he was redoing some of the writing on her bottom.

“Sir!” She twisted, or tried to, but he set his arm across her lower back and held her.
No!
She strained to roll and lift her bottom away. The scratching stopped.

Whack! Whack!
Two flat-handed blows fell on the other side of her bottom and fire screamed into her. “Stay!”

Stunned that he would dare to hit her that hard, she froze. “Uh.” Then frowned and muttered under-breath curses into the pillow next to her head. The scratching resumed.
Blast him
. Even so, a trickle of moisture cruised down her inner thigh, as if her body wanted something she hadn’t yet comprehended.

“Blast you.” She squeezed her eyes shut and dared him, in a way, to hear her, even though her words were as quiet as the breeze cooling her back and drying the ink.

Chapter 12

The breakfast table was laden with all the correct plates and cutlery. The gold around the rims and on the cutlery gleamed, fat and rich with light. The waiters were alarmingly attentive in this Louis the Fourteenth-inspired room, with its multiple fluted columns and a view out past enormous windows to the desert beyond. The morning was cool and breathtakingly lovely. Faith looked around. All that was missing was someone with whom to share it.

“Morning, Faith.” Smiling like a crocodile with a huge appetite, Jeremy scratched his black curls with one hand, yawned then slid into the seat opposite. “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were at the Orient?”

This was bizarre. She could remember every detail of last night, yet with Jeremy here it shrank into the past. Had she really slept with a man? In particular, had she let a man tie her up, hold her down and give her enough orgasms to satisfy a succubus?

“Faith? Are you all right?” Jeremy had leaned in and was frowning at her.

“Oh. Yes. Of course–”

“She is.” A rumbling voice–that had to be Mr. Meisner.

Faith twitched her gaze sideways and caught Mr. Meisner as he dragged out the chair next to her with those huge hands of his, and sat.

She licked her lip with the tip of her tongue, spotted him watching in amusement, and blushed as red, she was sure, as an adolescent at first sight of the opposite sex. Her bottom stung on one side and, on the other side, he’d written his name. God. How was she to bear this?

Having stared from Faith to Mr. Meisner and back, like a tennis spectator, Jeremy slumped in his chair. She waited for some blatant accusation but Jeremy merely twisted his mouth. “Do you know what your stepfather has suggested to me in a letter?”

“Oh dear.” She tried not to let her consternation show. “He hasn’t, has he? Not marriage?”

“Yes, exactly that. Does he actually expect us to marry?” He grinned. “Doesn’t he know I’d rather marry a whirling dervish? And I know you regard me as more a good partner at tennis than a potential husband.” He glanced at Leonhardt. “This is normal for us, dear fellow. We have a history of pulling each other to bits. Fun, but not husband-and-wife material, not at all.”

“No. We’d be as good together as sugar and salt.” She frowned. “Perhaps, he hoped it might happen. Henri just wants me to be happy.” She picked up a fork, tinged it against her glass. “I suppose then, we are in agreement? Neither of us wants to marry the other?”

“No. Heavens above, no.” He nudged the menu across the table. The bright colors splashed across the cover depicted the arches of the hotel against a violent yellow and red sky. “Now that’s settled, try the chocolat chaud or the crepes with sauteed apple and cream.”

“That sounds terribly French.” As always, Jeremy had succeeded in making light of a difficult situation.

“The managerial staff and most of the chefs are French–straight from Paris,” said Mr. Meisner.

“Really?” She dared to look, flinching as her sore buttock grazed the edge of the chair.

He’d left his chair out a distance from the table. His long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankle.

“Really.” Suave and sure as always, and she felt like kicking his ankle purely to rock that imperturbable manner. She pursed her lips. One corner of his mouth lifted, then both his eyebrows, as if he’d read that dangerous idea in her head, and dared her to try.

She exhaled through her nose in a huff.
Damned conceited man
.

One of the white-robed Egyptian waiters arrived, his belt sash neat, and as he placed a cup of coffee in front of Jeremy, his red fez moved not at all. He turned to Leonhardt. “And, Mr. Meisner? A message has arrived for you.” He laid an envelope on the table, which Leonhardt picked up and opened. “Mademoiselle, may I take your order?”

“I’ll have the crepes with apple and Chantilly cream. And black coffee, the same as Mr. Henleyson, thank you.”

“Of course.” He nodded to her then turned to Mr. Meisner. “And for sir?”

At the
sir
, she blinked. So many times, he’d had her say that...while his fingers had been in intimate places...inside her. At the thought, her drawers dampened. Would she think of that every time she spoke to a man?

“Coffee for me too, and a full breakfast. I need to keep my energy up,” Mr. Meisner drawled.

And
that
had to be deliberate.
Keep his energy up
. He was teasing her.

Having bowed, the waiter left them.

“Well!” Jeremy rapped on the table. “Welcome to Cairo, Faith. Not a very auspicious beginning, was it? Terrible thing what happened. The police think that may have been a murder. There were human bite marks and a rotten tooth still lodged in the flesh.”

“Jeremy.” Mr. Meisner sat up straight. “Miss Evard doesn’t need to hear this at breakfast, I’m sure.”

“Piffle!” She shot him a glare. “I’m not a wilting flower, Mr. Meisner. I won’t faint. You don’t know me very well.”
Ooh
. The hard set to his face said he was not amused by that. Well. For once the shoe was on the other foot, and he wanted to marry her?

“I shouldn’t think he knows you at all, Faith, said Jeremy.

She tore her gaze away from the rather irritated-looking Mr. Meisner.

“And it’s been how many years since I saw you? Three?” Jeremy continued.

“Yes, three. Whatever are you putting in your coffee, Jeremy?”

The spoon he was using tinkled erratically in the cup. He laid it on the saucer and tucked a small bottle back into his coat. “Medicine, my dear. I have a chronic complaint. Had it for years but lately it’s come back to haunt me. Gives me shaky hands. See.” He held out his hands. They trembled.

Faith frowned. “Is it serious? I mean, pardon my rudeness, but I am concerned.”

“Nothing you should bother yourself with. The ground-up mummy should fix me in a trice.” He sipped his coffee and gave her a mischievous smile. The cup didn’t tremble at all.

“Oh! You...you, liar! Ground-up mummy? Really, Jeremy! One of these days a joke of yours will trip you up.”

“Exactly. My deepest sympathies. I’m always telling him the same thing.” Briefly, Mr. Meisner rested his hand atop hers and squeezed.

Though she caught herself and stiffened, beneath her long silken dress, her nipples beaded.

“Well then,” she said stony-faced. She wouldn’t look at him...she wouldn’t. “Jeremy–”

A small furor at the entrance to the hall stopped her.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Framed by two of the columns with their fringe of decorative oriental lamps, a police officer took a step past a gaggle of waiters and the maître d’. “I have an unfortunate announcement to make.” He tugged the white jacket of his uniform into place and held his white cylindrical cap in his hands. “The night before last we believe there was a murder here in Cairo. Although at first the body was believed to be that of a man, the body had...deteriorated in the waters of the Nile. Upon further examination the doctor has determined it was a certain young woman. This Egyptian woman was abducted from gardens near this hotel. Therefore I would like to appeal to any of you who may have noticed any strange goings on, to report them to us. At the moment we would appeal for calm and rationality.

“Carry on as you were and thank you. Please, continue with your meal.” He spun on his heel, replaced his cap and left.

For a few seconds the air in the room seemed taut with shock then the silence burst into conversation. From the cries of
heavens above
and
what’s the world coming
to and
awful
the incident had made a deep mark on them all. But...the arm had belonged to a woman.

Queasiness tormented Faith’s stomach as she recalled the bloated white limb she’d hauled from the river. A chill shivered through her.
Poor thing...and murdered too. Whatever had she gone through before she died? The world was indeed going to pot
.

She shook her head.

The idea that someone could snuff out another’s life, especially a woman’s, was so foreign she struggled to grasp it. Soldiers and wars were different. This seemed so personal, so real. She’d had the severed arm on the ship’s deck in front of her nose. Thank God, at least the woman no longer suffered.

Turning back to the table, Faith saw Jeremy toss back the last of his coffee.

“A terrible,
terrible
affair,” he said. “They told me last night it was probably a woman. Swore me to secrecy. Mr. Green apparently gave her the ring. I hope he’s not the murderer and the police sort this out fast.

“Now, I must run off to work. You take care, won’t you, Faith? Alas, the EAS doesn’t take lollygagging holidays like Leonhardt’s employers. A new tomb got opened and I’m in charge of making sure the lot doesn’t disappear into some robber’s pocket.”