The Bourbon Kings #1 (33 page)

The gown was just Sutton’s style: beautifully put together, tailored to the body that filled it out, made from chiffon that was the gray of a dove.

Sitting forward, he brought his meager chest to her spectacular one and reached around to find the carefully hidden zipper. As he drew the thing downward, the sound of the unfastening seemed so very loud.

He could have sworn she gasped as if he had shocked her. And that was oh, so perfect. Exactly what Sutton would have done.

And then yes, oh, yes, the whore returned his exploration, her shaking hands going up his thin arms. God, he hated all that trembling on her part, but then he was no doubt hard to have sex with.

At least with the way he was now.

“I wish I had done this before,” he said in a voice that cracked. “My body was once something worth seeing. I should have … I should have tried to have you before, but I was too much of a coward. I was an arrogant coward—but the truth was, I could have withstood anything except you turning me down.”

“Edward—”

He cut her off by putting his mouth against hers.

Oh, she was good. As good as he’d always imagined she would be, the slick feel of his tongue slipping into her and the way she moaned like she’d been waiting a lifetime for this making him forget what he had become.

That gown melted away, falling from her body as if it were in on the gig—as if it were perhaps getting a kickback for making the session happen faster. And he took advantage of the skin that now showed, kissing his way down to her perfect breasts, suckling on her nipples, getting greedy fast. Bless the poor woman’s heart, she managed to fake things so well, her hands threading into his hair just as he wanted them to, her grip bringing him closer to her, even though that couldn’t possibly be what the prostitute actually wanted.

He tried not to be rough with her, but God, he was so hungry all of a sudden.

“Get into my lap,” he groaned. “You’re going to have to get into my lap.”

It was the only way he could have sex. Especially as he didn’t want to subject either one of them to the embarrassment of her having to help him off the floor after it was over.

“Are you sure?” she said roughly. “Edward—”

“I have to have you. I’ve waited too long. I almost died. I need this.”

There was a heartbeat’s worth of pause. Then she moved with admirable quickness, rising from the floor, kicking the gown free, revealing—sweet Jesus, she had a thong on and nothing else, no stockings, no garters. And rather than wasting time to take the thing off, she pushed it to the side as he fumbled with the belt that kept his pants from falling off his jutting hip bones.

In spite of how the rest of him had faded away, his cock was still as hard and long and thick as ever—and he was oddly grateful to that organ for being the only thing that wasn’t completely humiliating about this for him.

Shoving his arms into the chair, he pushed himself even farther forward, and she pretzeled herself, mounting him with enviable coordination—

His arousal penetrated her deeply, and the tight, hot hold she brought to him made him orgasm immediately—but that was not the amazing thing. Apparently the feel of him, by some miracle, did the same for her.

As she called out his name, she seemed to find her own release as well.

Either that or she’d missed her calling and should have been an Oscar-caliber actress.

Before Edward knew what he was doing, he began to move. It was weak, and rather pathetic, but she followed the lead, that first release soon getting eclipsed by an even greater orgasm for them both. Shuddering, rocking, straining, she held on to him for dear life, her hair getting into his face, her breasts pressing in to him, her body taking him on a ride like nothing he’d ever had.

The sex seemed to go on forever.

When it was finally finished, after a third orgasm for him, he collapsed back into the chair and panted. “I’m going to need you again.”

“Oh, Edward—”

“Tell Beau … next week. Same time, same day.”

“What?”

He let his head loll to the side. “Money’s over there. Only you. I only want you again.”

Abruptly, probably because he’d exerted himself more in the last twenty minutes than he had over the previous twelve months, he began to feel faint—and indeed, it seemed appropriate to pass out and let the prostitute leave on her own.

He could keep the fantasy going more easily that way.

“Thousand … by the door,” he mumbled. “Take it. Tip will come …”

Edward meant to say “Tip will come later. I’ll have someone drop it off at Beau’s” or something to that effect. But consciousness became a luxury he could no longer afford … and he gave himself up to the oblivion.

Once again, thinking only of Sutton Smythe.

S
utton stumbled out of Edward’s cottage. Her shoes were off and dangling from their straps, but unlike her earlier trip through the grass around the museum building, the porch boards and then the cobblestone path hurt.

It wasn’t as though she cared.

As she bolted for the Mercedes, she was a mass of contradictions, her brain a jammed-up mess, her body all loosey-goosey.

He’d thought she was a
prostitute
?

But why else had he been talking about money and some guy named Beau? Next week?

Oh, God, they’d had sex …

How had they done that? How had she let …

Dear Lord, his poor face, his body.

Around and around the thoughts spun in her head, until, as if by
centrifugal force, everything weeded out except for the fact that Edward was not at all as he had once been. His handsome looks were gone, the scars on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose and forehead making it virtually impossible to reconstruct by memory the perfection that had once been there.

She’d been aware that he’d been treated badly. Newspaper and television reports, her only source of information because he had refused to see anyone, had detailed the lengths of his hospital and rehabilitation stays—and that kind of extensive treatment did not happen without tragically good reason. But seeing him in person had been a total shock.

He’d been a polo player before the abduction. An event jumper. A runner. A basketball, tennis, and squash player. A swimmer. And because Edward had been a golden boy not just in business, but in every other aspect of his life, he had excelled at all of them.

I wish I had done this before. My body was once something worth seeing.

Sutton struggled to open her car’s driver’s-side door, her hand slipping off over and over again like she’d had some kind of a stroke and could no longer grip things properly. And when she finally was able to get herself into the car, she ran out of energy and just collapsed into the seat.

I should have tried to have you before, but I was too much of a coward. I was an arrogant coward—but I could have withstood anything except you turning me down.

What had he been saying—and who had he thought he’d been saying it to? Her heart broke with the idea that he was in love with someone like that.

He’d been so drunk. To the point where right before she bolted, she’d checked to make sure his heart was still beating and he was breathing—because, yes, the idea that she might have killed him because they’d …

“Dear Lord.”

How was it possible that, after years of thinking about it, they’d actually had sex. But only because he’d thought she was a whore he’d ordered from somewhere?

And no, they hadn’t used protection.

Fabulous. This veering off the beaten path thing tonight was just all-around wonderful … especially because, even though he’d been drunk … even though she’d been a head case … and in spite of the physical condition he’d been in … the sex had been incredible. Maybe it was all that pent-up wondering, maybe it was compatibility, maybe it was because it had been a one-time-only, stars-aligned kind of event.

But whatever the reasons, he had just blown away the few men she had been with.

And, she feared, scorched the earth for anybody else.

Reaching forward, she pushed the start/stop button—and as the car’s engine let out a purr, the headlights flared and made her panic. There were other people on the grounds—had to be—and the last thing she wanted was to get caught. She was going to need to figure out how to deal with this, and having the gossip mill get to churning was not going to be part of her coping strategy, thank you very much—

At that very moment, another car came down the alley of trees and, instead of heading for one of the barns or outbuildings, it pulled up right next to her.

The woman who got out was … tall, brunette, and dressed in a full-length evening gown.

She frowned as she looked at the Mercedes.

And came over.

Sutton put her window down, because what else was she supposed to do? At the same time, she also started searching for the right lever, button, whatever, to get the sedan into reverse.

“I thought I was on the schedule for this tonight?” the woman asked pleasantly enough.

“I … ah …” As Sutton stammered, a flush ran through her. “Ah …”

“Are you one of the new girls Beau was talkin’ about? I’m Delilah.”

Sutton shook the hand that was offered. “How do you do.”

“Oh, you sound so posh!” The woman smiled. “So did you take care of him?”

“Ah …”

“It’s okay if you did. Sometimes these things happen, and I’ve got two other calls tonight.” She reached up and yanked what turned out to be a wig off her head. “At least I can be free of this. Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry?”

The woman rubbed at her cropped blond hair as she nodded in the direction of the cottage. “Him? We all look after him, the poor guy. Beau won’t tell us who he is, but he must be someone important. He’s always so generous, and he treats us all real good. Such a sad case, really.”

“Yes. It is very sad.”

“Well, I’ll head out. You want me to let Beau know we’re all set?”

“Ah …”

“I’ll take care of next week, then.”

“No,” Sutton heard herself say. “He told me … the man said he wanted me again?”

“Oh, okay, no problem. I’ll pass that word along.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Maybe this was some kind of a bizarre fever dream?

As Sutton resumed her search for the right lever, the prostitute leaned back down. “Are you looking for reverse?”

“Ah, yes, yes, I am.”

“It’s that one right there. Move it up for reverse. All the way down is drive, and you push in the end for park.”

“Thank you. It’s hard.”

“One of my regulars has this exact car. It’s a real beauty! Drive safe.”

Making a noncommittal noise, Sutton backed her way around carefully, very aware that the other woman was standing oh, so close with that brunette wig in her hand.

Heading off to the main road, she decided this had to be the result of her having contracted the flu and taken to her bed. Any moment she was going to wake up …

Really.

She was.

Holy shit, how did all that just happen?

T
he day of the Derby dawned bright and clear, although, as Lizzie drove in to work, there could have been thunder and lightning, torrential flooding, and hurricane winds, and she would still have smiled the entire ride to Charlemont.

Lane and she had played rock, paper, scissors to decide who went in first, and in spite of the fact that he had won three times in a row, they’d decided she should leave before him. One, she had a lot to do, and two, he had been in no hurry to go anywhere.

Every time she blinked, she saw him laying back in her sheets, his naked chest on display, his very naked lower body hidden underneath.

She had never felt so rested after having had little to no sleep all night long.

Passing by the main entrance to Easterly, she had to shake her head. You never knew where you were going to end up, did you.

So much for the whole “friends” only thing.

Coming around to the staff road, she promptly had to hit her brakes and join a long line of delivery trucks and cars. She was relieved to see so many of the former in light of the problem they’d had with the rental
company, but nervous about how Lane and his family would pay for all the additional help considering the latter.

When she finally got to the parking lot, she had to squeeze the Yaris into a spot in the back. There were about a hundred waiters and waitresses coming to staff the party, and their vehicles all had to go somewhere. In another hour? The lower road was going to be lined with pickup trucks and motorcycles and twelve kinds of sedans.

Getting out, she hooked up with the parade of people trooping to the house on the back path. Nobody was saying anything, and that was fine with her. In her head, she was working her punch list and prioritizing the things she wanted to do before the floodgates opened and over six hundred of the most important people in town for the races came through Easterly’s front door.

Number one on her list?

Greta.

She had to somehow fix things with Greta because they were going to have to work as a team in order to survive the next four hours.