As he turned to kick aside his clothes, she saw his back. Scars traversed it, the thick indelible mark of the lash. Her heart contracted.

He turned back to her, and her gaze followed the line of his hip as it arrowed down to his groin. His cock stood at full attention and seemed to twitch beneath her perusal.

He took a step toward her, but she pointed once more at the bed. “Go on,” she commanded.

He shot her a look that seemed to indicate he didn’t appreciate being ordered about, yet he moved fast enough, climbing onto her bed. As he did so, she took a selfish moment to admire the flex of his firm buttocks. The springs creaked and the mattress sagged beneath his weight. There was a very good chance they’d break her bed tonight. She didn’t care in the slightest.

“Bed’s too damned small to lie down,” he said.

“Sit at the edge.”

When he did so, and looked at her expectantly, she pulled off her nightgown and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He growled in response.

“Better not turn down the lights,” he said, staring at her, “because I’ve waited too long to see you like this.”

“I’ve wanted to be seen.”

She let him look his fill, reveling in the way he drank her in with his eyes. He was a man, so of course his gaze lingered on her breasts and between her legs, but he also traced the lengths of her arms, her legs, even taking note of her bare toes.

But there was only so much admiration from a distance either of them could stand.

“If you don’t bloody get over here, right now,” he said, “I’m coming to get you.”

“I don’t like being ordered around, either,” she answered.

She sauntered toward him, feeling the sway of her hips, the measure of her own power. And the way he watched her, as though she contained every answer to every mystery, filled her with strength.

His hands curved over her hips when she stood between his legs. Leaning forward, he nuzzled her breasts, the bristle of his jaw deliciously abrasive against her skin. He ran his tongue around her nipples, alternating between them, and she threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him close. More heat spiraled through her—feeling him, seeing him.

Reaching down, she grasped his cock. He rumbled against her breast as she encircled him. He was iron-hard, filling her hand. She stroked the wide head, down the shaft, then back up, lightly raking her nails over him. Sharply, he inhaled, his hips rising up. Ah, he liked that. So she did it again, punctuating her strokes with careful scrapes up his shaft.

His hand clamped down over hers. “Have to stop,” he grated. “Or I’ll go off in your hand.”

She smiled wickedly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would, damn it. Enough talk—need to be inside you.” He pulled her closer.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on her hips, she straddled him, her legs wrapping around his waist. Their bodies pressed close, and they both groaned at the feel of his chest against her breasts, his flat abdomen and rigid cock tight to the curve of her stomach. She didn’t take him within her, not yet. For a lifetime it seemed she had waited for this, and she wouldn’t rush.

Canting her hips, she guided his cock between her folds. Up and down she moved, sliding him along her lips, over her clit, coating him with her wetness. Exquisite sensation flooded her to feel him like this, to watch the agonized pleasure on his face as she deliberately tortured them both.

“Ah, God, Eva,” he gasped. “That’s … God…” Yet even as they both shook with pleasure, he had reached his breaking point. Hands almost cruel on her hips, he lifted her up, notched his cock at her opening, then brought her down, surging into her.

She cried out.

Instantly, he stilled. “Hurting you?”

“I only need … a moment.” He was huge within her, stretching her to her utmost. Thank heavens she was soaking wet, for she doubted she would’ve been able to accommodate him otherwise. She breathed deep, willing her body to relax. In a moment, the pain ebbed, and she was left with only sensation, wonderful sensation.

“Better?” he asked.

“Best,” she murmured.

“Good, because I’ve got to do this.” He thrust up, and she cried out again, this time from pure pleasure. “And this.” He moved once more, filling her completely.

She clung to his shoulders as she rode him, his hips meeting hers, his cock exquisite within her. His thrusts were measured but fierce, and she gasped with each one.

Looking down, she watched his cock plunging in and out of her. Yes. Everywhere, heat. Sensation. She ground her clit against him as he continued to fuck her relentlessly. White-hot, her climax tore through her. He clapped his hand over her mouth, muffling her cries.

When the last filaments of her orgasm faded, she found herself flipped onto her back, her knees up and feet on the mattress. Jack knelt on the ground, his hands continuing to grip her hips. She gazed up at him through pleasure-glazed eyes. Sweat glossed his body. Brutal desire hollowed his cheeks, and his expression was fierce. A beast ready to claim its mate.

More than lust shone in his eyes. A kind of searching, a need. And when he thrust into her, that need blazed even higher.

She gripped the mattress for support as he drove in and out of her. The room was filled with the sounds of flesh against flesh, and their commingled cries. Light gleamed on his muscles as they flexed with effort. Primal. True and real.

With a groan midway between anguish and ecstasy, he suddenly pulled out of her. Hot seed shot from him, coating her belly. He threw his head back as his climax raged on.

At last, he released his grasp of her hips—there would be bruises, but she didn’t care—and planted his hands on either side of her head, his body bowing over hers. Their kiss was molten, deep. She wanted to lose herself in this moment, every inch of her thrumming with satiation.

But he pulled away. She could barely stir as she watched him pad across the room to search for and retrieve a towel from a cabinet. He returned, and sat beside her as he gently, thoroughly, cleaned her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “for having sense to…” She glanced down at her stomach meaningfully.

A corner of his mouth turned up. “Only sensible thing I’ve done, when it has to do with you.”

When he’d cleaned her, he put the towel aside and gathered her up in his arms. The bed was too small for him, but he managed to twist and turn himself so that they lay cradled together, his front to her back. His lips ran back and forth over her neck, his hand curved at her waist. After the heated activity only minutes earlier, they were quiet now, listening to the predawn birds stirring in the trees outside.

She wondered if, when the sun came up, her landlady would ask her to leave. No mistaking what she and Jack had been doing. Well, she could find someplace else to live. A small price to pay for what had been the most extraordinary experience of her life.

And Nemesis? Would they ask her to leave, too? That would be a bitter cost. Nemesis meant everything to her. She couldn’t leave them. She had to continue with their work.

Yet she couldn’t regret what she’d done, what she and Jack had done together. She didn’t know what it meant, or what the future might bring, but for now, she could allow herself this moment of repletion. She had unleashed her true self, without fear. It had been … remarkable. Jack was remarkable.

Yet the mission was ongoing. She had no idea if it would succeed or not. And if, by luck and determination, they were successful in their plans, then Nemesis would have no further use for Jack, and he would have to go. It would be far too dangerous for him to remain in England. And she’d never leave.

“Wish I could stay,” he said drowsily.

“I wish you could, too.” But it was impossible. Everything about the two of them together was impossible.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tired, sated, his brain fogged with weariness and thoughts of Eva, Jack climbed in the window to his room. Dawn was minutes away, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

He tensed the minute he got inside his room.

Simon leaned against the wall, watching the window, arms folded over his chest.

“Whatever you got to say,” Jack muttered, peeling off his coat, “say it quick. I ain’t in the mood for lectures.” He threw his coat and waistcoat onto a chair and did the same with his shirt. He had a mad impulse to press his shirt to his face. It might carry Eva’s scent, and he wanted to pull it deep into his lungs.

Instead, he made himself move to his washstand and pour water into a basin, which he splashed on his face.

“No lecture.” The toff’s voice was dangerously quiet. In the mirror, Jack saw Simon’s gaze roam over his back as if looking for the best place to stick a knife. “A warning.”

Turning around, Jack dried his face on a cloth. “Threatening me ain’t very smart, gov.”

“I don’t make threats,” Simon answered, still in that deadly soft voice. “When I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it. So mark me, Dalton,” he continued, pushing away from the wall, “if you hurt Eva in any way, I will kill you.”

Though the nob didn’t have Jack’s size, it was clear Simon knew how to scrap. Only a real fighter stood the way Simon did now, body and hands loose but ready. His sharp blue eyes revealed a fighter’s confidence. Jack could beat Simon, but the toff would give him a hell of a brawl.

Fury boiled through him at the idea that he might hurt Eva. “Think she can’t take care of herself?”