Rough Surrender Page 15

  “No!” She spun and shot a glance at him. Though no hurt showed in his voice the accusation stung her. Besides, he was only human. A question like that...well, she wondered if she had hurt him. “No. I do value it. I’m sorry, I was distracted. I–”

  “I understand, Faith.” Those brown eyes regarded her kindly. “I’ve seen how your passions distract you.”

  “Ah.” Was that a double entendre? She pursed her lips.

  Someone walked across the light-flooded entrance.

  “Hello! Miss Evard. Mr. Meisner.” Jimmy Whitrod came over to Faith’s side. “Ah. She is beautiful, but I still haven’t found out where the engine’s gotten to.”

  Faith gave him a rueful smile then leaned back in the angle of wing and fuselage. “Keep looking, Jimmy. We may still salvage a day or two of flying if it turns up.” She looked him up and down. In gray overalls and carrying a bag of tools, he was clearly ready to go tend to another’s plane. “If you’re helping someone else out, best you go do it.”

  He touched his cap. “Thanks, miss. I’ll be back on the job for you tomorrow. Good day, Mr. Meisner, nice to see you again. I trust the flying lessons were to your liking, sir?”

  “Yes, thank you, Jimmy. I learned a great deal.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, sir.”

  What? Faith turned to Mr. Meisner and stared at him across the wing. Though almost ready to grasp his lapels and shout the question, she waited until Jimmy had gone. “Lessons, sir? You’ve had flying lessons?”

  “Yes.” He took off his top hat, ran his hand over his bald head and laid the hat on the white canvas wing of her Bleriot, then did the same with his cane. “I have.” His eyes held a hint of merriment. “I always like to do my study before I make my decisions. Not that I’ve altered my opinion. These things are death traps. The only difference is now I know it.”

  “You took off and landed?”

  He stepped along as if measuring the length of the wing then rounded the wingtip, all the while watching her. “I did. And luckily I landed well. Very luckily, though I only managed thirty feet of flight.”

  With a casual air, he approached her and suddenly she realized he was now on the same side of the plane and she had nowhere to go. Her back was against the airplane. Already the man crowded her. Something about his scent and the warmth that preceded him like wave made her pulse accelerate. The noise of the crowd in the stands, the revving engines and the megaphone announcement of the next pilot–all faded to a muffled blur.

  “What are you doing, sir?” She flicked her gaze from his eyes to the breadth of his shoulders, and oh, the size of the man sent a thrill into her, and made her try, at least, to back away. Her sore bottom bumped into some protuberance on the Bleriot and she hissed at the pain.

  “What am I doing? I’m going to kiss you, dear.” He put his hand to her neck and the weight of him settled, fastening her to the spot.

  “Here? In public? Sir...I must protest!”

  “No, you must not. There is no one watching. They’re all out looking at the air show. The shed is dark compared to out there in the daylight.” With his other hand he wrapped his fingers around the side of her face. His thumb ran along her cheek then nudged at her lips until she opened and let it inside. “I know how you like being held.”

  She wavered between wondering if he was right about no one watching, and being aroused by the very same idea.

  Sure that the world had somehow turned inside out and shrunk because his face seemed to be all that was in front of her, she slowly let her tongue explore the thumb, tasting him, while he avidly watched her.

  “Bite it,” he whispered.

  She did and found her cleft seeping wetness into her drawers. As his thumb pushed farther into her mouth she opened and let him, felt it probe across her wet tongue and her teeth and push deep inside. Why did this feel so erotic? As if his member was in her mouth? She shuddered, remembering how that had been, and lifted her half-shut eyes to meet his amber ones.

  “Don’t move.” His other hand swept down her, over breast and stomach.

  Then she felt the front of her dress being pulled up and snapped open her eyes, tried to stand straighter, to resist him. With just the thumb in her mouth, wedged along her teeth and his fingers along her jaw, he held her...and also with the two fingers he shoved into her slit, her saturated pulsing slit that contracted down on him in an instant.

  This was blistering, heart-seizing control. “Mmm!” Fingers inside her at both ends.

  Her body wanted him there even if she knew this was bad, and wrong, and poor etiquette in every sense of the word. She moaned around his thumb and curved her mound upward, seeking more of his hand, his fingers...him. When his thumb pulled out of her mouth and his lips descended on hers she merely opened up wider in an O of surrender, and let him plunder her. His tongue explored every portion of her mouth, fucking her as his cock had fucked her down there only hours ago. Whatever instincts made her do this had taken her over, had offered her up for his pleasure.

  When his thumb ground onto her clitoris she stiffened then climbed minute by minute under the rough pump of his hand, like some over-powered aircraft to the searing heavens and she came, silent, open mouthed, almost choking as she juddered...and came again.

  The wracking waves took forever to leave her.

  Then he kissed her gently, dragged out his fingers and rearranged her dress.

  “Lick them clean, Faith,” he said softly, holding his slick fingers before her mouth. Those were her juices. She looked into his eyes and did as he’d ordered, licking off every trace of herself. The hard satisfaction in his gaze made her chest hurt and fulfilled her in a way no orgasm ever could have.

  Then he enfolded her in his arms. So safe. So nice. So completely his.

  As he led Faith from the airplane shed, dazed-eyed and bruised of lip, with her arm tucked through his, a Voisyn scraped in along the landing strip and burst into flame. It slid to a crumpled stop. The pilot jumped out and ran to the side, standing there hands on hips while his craft was devoured by blue-orange fire.

  * * * *

  Leonhardt inhaled through his nose. Vindicated. A near disaster. “That is why you should not fly, Faith. The very first day and we have a crash. How would it be if you were in the air and your airplane caught fire?”

  “The risk is negligible, and see, he has not been harmed. Besides, mine is a far safer craft.”

  Ah, she’d regained her senses. He looked down at her, smaller by a foot, with that petulant yet assured expression. If it hadn’t been for the crash, he would have been amused. He’d made her orgasm only minutes before, and so close to this horde of people, and those facts alone were enough to keep him hard for a week. But, he swung his mind back to her statement. How easily she distracted him.

  Of course, it was true, in a way–the Bleriot did seem far better constructed than some of the bits of paper and stick he’d looked at. He’d spent the last three days checking out the airplanes, as well as that flying lesson, and doing the small amount of work he had to do for the company before this day arrived.

  Flying lessons. He almost shuddered. What devil had invented airplanes? The Wright brothers were either insane or inspired, and he knew which conclusion he leaned toward.

  “Good day, Mr. Meisner!”

  The voice was distinctive enough to make him tense. Sydney Smythe.

  “Good day, sir.”

  Smythe was arm in arm with a florid, blue-gowned matron with a feathered hat broad enough to trail plumage a foot out the back and make it dangerous to approach too closely from some directions.

  Despite the fresh memory of how Smythe had treated Faith, politeness demanded he not punch the man. Not here, anyway. The increasing number of Europeans and British holidaying in Cairo must have attracted this snake of a man. Now if only he’d vanish back where he’d come from. His political connections made it impossible to touch him.

  “I hear there’s at least thirty thousand spectators her
e today, Leonhardt. Good for business, I’d say.” Smythe flashed a knowing smile then studied Faith in a very thorough way. “Have my card, dear fellow. I can tell you’re still in the game. Do visit some day when the novelty wears off of your new pet.” He tipped his hat and strolled on, limping slightly.

  Perhaps some irate patron had got the man with one of his own whips? One could only hope. He took the card out of reflex politeness, glanced at the writing on it. The words there in neat blue calligraphy made him stare for several seconds before he tucked the card into a pocket. That his hand had clenched down he only became aware when Faith tapped urgently at his hand.

  “Sir! Mr. Meisner! Leonhardt! You are crushing my arm.”

  “Am I?” He released his grip on her forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.” For once her concern was for him. Though that pleased him, the cause did not. “What pet did he mean, sir?”

  He could have lied...except the intelligence in her eyes told him she’d guessed. “You. He thinks you are some fleeting amusement. You are not.”

  They’d walked several feet through the crowd before she replied. “Thank you. I’m glad I’m not a pet, or a fleeting amusement, though really you are not going to get away without explaining what the game is, sir.” Then she turned a thin-lipped smile on him and whispered, “No matter how many orgasms you give me.”

  Her candor made him regard her with great curiosity. What sort of woman was this? Sometimes he did wonder if she’d prove too much of a handful. Until he recalled all that she’d let him do, and that only made his imagination run wild with the possibilities for the future.

  Something out of doors should be next on his agenda. Yes.

  “What are you two up to?” The sotto voce secret tone to the question might have been alarming–except he recognized Jeremy’s voice instantly.

  “Good day, Jeremy.” He and Faith turned as one. “My goodness.”

  The man was dressed in one of his best dark suits and bowler hat, with a red rose bud peeking from a pocket. For once even his hair had been tamed.

  “What?” Jeremy stared down at himself. “What? Too spiffy for you? It’s Mrs. Willoughby. She’s having a dreadful influence on me.”

  “You’re adorable.” He smiled. Maybe he should have gifted him with a chaperone earlier.

  Faith half-raised her borrowed umbrella. “Mrs. Willoughby? Whatever are you doing with her? Did you–” She frowned up. “You didn’t? Leonhardt!”

  “You prefer to have her following us about? I recall you telling me she’d appointed herself and thought to keep her occupied.”

  Her mouth twitched as if she had thoughts but wasn’t courageous enough to voice them. Well, he’d found another of Faith’s weaknesses–chaperones.

  “Uh.” Jeremy looked from him to Faith and back. “I see. I don’t mind though, really. She’s quite the student of Egyptology and nobody dares steal anything when she’s near. I’ve had her and two other ladies out looking at one of the digs. Look, I must be off and find where she’s gone. You two have a wonderful day, except, Faith, don’t let him get his own way too often.” He met Leonhardt’s eyes and, for once, Jeremy’s face stilled and an edge of seriousness crept in. “And you, don’t forget she’s my friend too. I want her in one piece when she’s done with you.”

  Now that was going a little too far.

  “You doubt me?”

  Jeremy twirled the flower bud with one finger. “Doubt you, old boy? I know you. Take care...both of you.”

  The sentiments might have alarmed many women but when he checked with Faith, looking down at her, she only gave him a small smile.

  She tipped her head. The light gray-blue of her irises entranced him. “I know you a little too now. Don’t worry. I trust you.”

  Simple words and they meant so much. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “Thank you.”

  By the end of the day he’d had more than his fill of buzzing airplanes, and even Faith looked to be tired of the mad crowd that seemed obsessed with everything to do with aviation. With the storm still loitering at the horizon, they decided to leave before it hit the aerodrome.

  On the way past the flamboyant emerald-and-gold silk pavilion of the prince, he spotted Hasim Massri standing at the entrance, hand in pocket and sipping champagne. Tall, with tight, red-brown curls, dusky complexion and an open face that seemed ever cheerful, Hasim attracted women like butterflies to a bouquet of flowers. That his tastes mirrored Leonhardt’s generally sent them running the other way eventually but somehow hadn’t stopped Hasim having numerous elusive and low-key affairs.

  The brilliance of his smile when he was introduced to Faith, didn’t escape Leonhardt. He wasn’t concerned–Hasim had to be the most sensible and well-balanced man of all his friends.

  “Could I ask you to see what you can find out about this, Hasim?” He handed over the business card Smythe had given him. “In particular about the person he’s indicated on there?”

  Though he too worked for the company, Hasim had connections high up in both the British and the Egyptian upper classes–some said as far as the prince. Who better to entrust Mr. Smythe’s card to? That his brother was an inspector in the police force might also help. The information inscribed there needed investigating and fast. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  Unbroken. Out of all the words in the message that one had stood out. Whoever this woman, Beth, might be, he would not leave her at Smythe’s mercy.

  “Of course, Leonhardt.” Hasim examined the card for a moment, tucked it away then raised his champagne flute. “Is tomorrow soon enough?”

  “That would be good.” He looked the man in the eyes. “From what I know of Smythe, I’d be indebted if you’d leave it no later.”

  Though Faith looked puzzled, she added nothing, for which Leonhardt was grateful. Explaining how he knew Smythe was not something he wished to do.

  Hasim nodded and appeared preoccupied, staring blindly at the ground for a few seconds. Then the darkness on his face cleared and a smile crept upon his lips. “Faith Evard! Of course!”

  She blinked as if startled and her little turban hat jiggled. “Yes?”

  “I remember now–you’re on the pilot list.”

  “True. Currently I have no functioning airplane, however.” Her mouth twisted. “I should perhaps stick to car racing and then Mr. Meisner”–she shot him a petite glare–“wouldn’t be so determined to discourage me.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s Leonhardt.” Hasim chuckled. “A stickler for engineering everything down to the last bolt and screw. Thinks airplanes are the progeny of Satan. Perhaps we could discuss automobile racing on some later occasion. However, I must go back in now.” Hasim bent over Faith’s offered hand and kissed it. “Enchante, Miss Evard.”

  It piqued Leonhardt’s interest when Faith blushed and looked momentarily off balance. It was enough to give him ideas.

  “Hasim, what about you come to dinner tonight? Seven? Miss Evard will be there.”

  “Truly? Consider it done. Seven sounds excellent.” He gave Faith a disarming wink and ambled back inside.

  “Am I coming to dinner then, Mr. Meisner? What if I say, no, sir?” A challenge possessed her gray eyes.

  “You won’t, for I aim to ensure it will be a night to remember” He smiled back, delighted at the way that made her hush and how her hand gripped her parasol ever so tightly...and at the slight widening of her nostrils.

  He mulled over the recent events with Smythe. Nothing like an encounter with pure evil to crystallize thoughts. He made a decision he’d wanted to finalize since the first night he had spent with Faith, sent a runner off with instructions for Mawson, then made sure to take a meandering route to the aerodrome’s entrance. As they walked toward the Thomas Flyer, he announced his decision.

  “You’re coming home with me, for the rest of the week.” Then he ignored the way she gaped at him, with her eyes lighting up with alarm, and went to crank the
engine. Mawson was already off by taxicab to warn the cook of Faith and Hasim’s presence at dinner, and to arrange for the hotel to send on her luggage.

  The high-pitched scream of a horse alerted him. Attached to a hansom cab, it had been spooked by something and was rearing. Though the driver dragged on the reins and made calming sounds, seconds later the horse, with the cab bouncing behind, made a frantic gallop for the open road.

  “Faith!” He scooped her up and flung her up onto the bonnet of the automobile then leaped and made it up there himself with a second to spare. The frantic steed shot past and careened clattering onto the road, froth spilling from its mouth.

  “Heavens, that was a near thing. Thank you, Mr. Meisner.” She made as if to get down but he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close.

  “Stay a little longer.” The steed had been caught by two men but its ears were back and eyes rolled in fear. Under his thighs, the engine grumbled and shook the metal of the bonnet. Leonhardt tightened his hold on Faith. “You smell nice, Faith, even after a day trudging about. However do you manage that?”

  The side of her neck tempted him and he considered nibbling, but didn’t, then noticed the flush creeping across her cheeks and the small wriggle of her bottom. “Am I affecting you that much? You are a little red.”

  “It’s, ah–em, the engine.” She flung a desperate glance at him. “The shaking is doing things to me. It’s somewhat arousing. I should get down now, sir, before I disgrace myself.”

  “My goodness. As an engineer the possibilities seem intriguing.” To keep himself from grinning widely was near impossible. He tried, though.

  By the time he’d helped her down and into the front passenger seat, then gone around and slipped into the driver’s seat, she’d recovered and had a tight-lipped question for him. “Why do you expect me to stay with you? Why, sir? Surely it would be scandalous for me to live with you so blatantly?”

  How to explain? She’d want facts and for once he was working on supposition and a vague sense of danger.

  “Smythe is one of the most unconscionable men I’ve ever known. With the murder and him in Cairo, I want you near me, safe.” He shifted in his seat and studied her.