When she chanted his name, he claimed her mouth once more, screwing his finger in deeply, his thumb working her pearl. She stiffened in surprise when her climax broke, her sweet cries of release vibrating down his throat. As her cunny massaged his finger with mind-obliterating spasms, sweat misted his brow. His erection pulsed, more pre-spend leaking. By God, to feel that tight little sheath stretched around his shaft. One flick and he could release the fall of his trousers, could bury himself to the balls—
Faint voices jerked him from feverish temptation. He tensed, ears straining. A man and a woman… out in the hallway?
The peril of the situation struck him like an icy wave. Violet’s reputation would be ruined if they were caught like this. With fathomless regret, he pulled away. He yanked her nightclothes down, grabbed her hand.
“We have to go,” he said.
“Hmm?”
Despite the looming disaster, his lips twitched at her dreamy response. Well… damn. If he’d known he could get her acquiescence this way, he’d have seduced her weeks ago.
In low tones, he said, “People are out in the corridor.”
He saw reality return, her eyes widening. “Crumpets, what are we going to do?”
“We’ll wait in here until they pass.” He tugged her into the dark labyrinth of bookshelves. Positioning her behind him, he stood on guard at the mouth of the aisle, peering around the shelf to monitor the entrance to the library. His senses strained to catch what was going on outside.
“Carlisle.” Her urgent whisper came from behind him.
“It’ll be all right.” His eyes were trained on the door. “They’ve passed us by—”
“Never mind them. There’s someone else in here.With us.”
He swung around, saw her pointing shakily toward the far end of the aisle. Squinting, he made out a form in the gloom… someone sitting on the floor against the shelves? The back of his neck prickled.
“Stay here,” he said tersely.
He went to grab the taper she’d set on the table earlier and headed back down the aisle. She ignored his instruction—of course—and followed right on his heels.
The flame cast an eerie mix of light and shadows over the aged spines, and as he neared his destination, the form on the ground took the shape of a woman. Crouching, he held out the candle: Madame Monique. His gut iced over. She was slumped like a ragdoll against the shelf, eyes staring out of her bloodless face, hands balled at her sides.
He heard Violet’s sharp intake of breath. “Dear Lord, is sh-she…?”
He placed his fingers on the acrobat’s throat. Cool skin, the flatness of nothing.
“She’s dead,” he said grimly.
“H-how did this happen?”
He raised the flame higher, saw blood streaking from a wound on her right temple. He ran the light over the rest of her; something glinted within her furled fingers.
“Hold this.” He handed the taper to Violet. “I see something…”
Reaching down, he gingerly removed the object from the dead woman’s grasp. His breath rammed into his throat as he lifted the distinctive signet ring, the ornate initials gleaming.
No, it can’t be...
“Gadzooks.” Violet sounded as shocked as he felt. “That ring… it belongs to Wick.”
Chapter Eleven
Ambrose Kent didn’t take vacations often, and now he wondered why. The verdant meadow was paradise. He was having a picnic with his wife, the scent of honey wafting on the summer breeze, birdsong echoing in the blue skies. And that wasn’t even the best part of it.
With his back against the sun-warmed blanket, he stared up into his spouse’s gorgeous face. The two of them were as naked as Adam and Eve. Marianne’s pale blond tresses streamed over her shoulders, one end curling around a lovely coral nipple.
His hands tightened on her soft hips.
“Ride me, my selkie,” he urged.
