His hand closed over hers, tightening her hold on him, urging a new, ferocious rhythm. He was a powerful instrument, and she was eager to learn how to play him properly. To give him the same pleasure that he’d given her. Under his tutorial, she pumped with both fists, lingering at the engorged crown when that seemed to enhance his delight. Moisture leaked from the slit in the tip, lubricating her touch, making him groan aloud.
Suddenly, he pushed her hands away.
“Your eyes, princess. Give me your eyes,” he said as his hand jerked over his cock.
Her gaze flew up to his. The glittering possessiveness she saw there thrilled her to the core. The mask of the Angel was gone. Gabriel was baring himself, showing her his primal desires. Trusting that she was strong enough to be his match. The muscles of his jaw suddenly stood out, his teeth grinding as if against a shout.
An instant later, something hot jetted against her skin. She gasped as he climaxed with savage magnificence. Spurt after spurt spewed from the broad head of his cock, heat lashing her breasts, his male scent absorbing into her skin. Shudders wracked his powerful frame as he watched himself mark her with his essence. When he was finished, her heart was pounding as if she’d run for miles.
Wonderingly, she touched her fingertip to the glossy droplet that clung to her right nipple. The slick, circling contact hardened the bud, sent a fresh hum of awareness through her. Her pussy dampened in a rush.
“Devil and damn,” he said reverently.
Her gaze raised to his. His chest was surging unevenly, wonder easing the harsh lines of his face. Fastening his trousers, he removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his robe. With gentle care, he wiped himself from her skin, the smoky warmth of his eyes making her throat clench. No words were exchanged, and yet a new connection thrummed between them. He dressed her, then drew her into his arms.
Against her hair, he murmured, “What the devil am I going to do with you?”
“More of what you just did?” she said hopefully.
His laugh was raw with emotion, his arms tightening around her.
“You’re mine now, Thea. Right or wrong,” he said fiercely, “I’m never letting you go.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Gabriel met with the men to make arrangements for the ambush at Covent Garden in four days’ time. McLeod had secured a stall for them directly across from Fielding’s so that they would be able to monitor Pompeia’s meeting. They would catch her or the Spectre in the act and nab them.
As Kent and McLeod mapped out the positions where their team would lie in wait, Gabriel couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to the conservatory. To the midnight fantasy that, in the light of day, seemed too preposterously good to be real. Thea had accepted his past. His desires. Hell, she’d redefined eroticism for him, all that he’d known before decimated by the honesty and strength of her passion.
He’d debauched her, and she’d loved it, he thought dazedly. Wantedmore.
Suddenly, he’d gone from being cursed to being the luckiest bastard in the world.
Because of her. His wanton princess.
“You approve the plan, my lord?”
Hastily, Gabriel drew his gaze to Kent. “Beg pardon?”
The investigator gave him an odd look, tapping the map on the table. “You were smiling as if this were a map to Shangri-La rather than Covent Garden. I assume you find no fault in our strategy?”
“Er, no. No fault,” he muttered. “Carry on.”
Heat crept up under his collar as the investigator scrutinized him for another moment before continuing on with the plans. If Kent caught wind of his thoughts, the man would more likely than not call him out. Then he would be put in the awkward position of dueling with his future brother-in-law.
For as soon as the Spectre was dealt with, he would offer for Thea. After last night, his honor—and the rest of him—demanded that he claim her as his. She’d provoked the beast; once he’d tasted her sweetness, there was no going back. There was only one problem. In the heat of all the revelations and passion last night, he’d conveniently neglected one topic: love. Specifically, that he wanted no part of it.
His neck heated as he thought of himself in the early days of being a newlywed, when he’d been struck by a mad craving for the emotion. For a closeness that he’d never known before. Embarrassment flooded him as he recalled his needful behavior. He hadn’t blamed Sylvia for finding him tedious. He’d chalked it up to a bridegroom’s temporary insanity.
He’d regained control, killing the outward signs of the emotion—but it had been too late. The roots had dug deep inside him, leading to misery when Sylvia had no longer wanted him in her bed. Keeping him trapped in a hell of love’s making.
Give emotion an inch, and it will take a mile. Octavian had never missed an opportunity to point that out.In life and in war, Trajan, sentiment only gets in the way.
Jaw tautening, Gabriel told himself that he would learn from his mistakes. It was enough—more than he’d hoped for—that Thea could accept him sexually. Desire was real and honest between them. He would possess her, but he wouldn’t lose control over his emotions the way he once had. Disaster lay that way. As long as they didn’t muddle up the business with unwarranted sentiment, they would rub along just fine.
Resolved, he returned his attention to planning with the other men. After another hour, when they were satisfied that all angles had been considered, they wrapped up for the day.
“If you’re set on participating in the capture, you’d best spend the remainder of the time recuperating, my lord,” Kent advised. “You’re in no shape to be chasing down a murderer.”
