Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

He framed her face and scorched her soul with a proud and seductive smile. “Tonight is ours, Mrs. Darcy. Tomorrow, we take on the world.”

• • •

Willie could not have imagined a more perfect honeymoon. Dinner, perfect. Dancing, perfect. Everything, perfect .

Perfect because she’d been with Simon.

This night she found it most difficult to separate the girl who’d fallen in love with the college boy from the woman who’d been seduced by the brilliant engineer. She found it most difficult to focus period. Which was why they had not lingered long at any one festivity.

Had they been anywhere but in a skytown, they would have been a source of fascination or ridicule. First, because she had spent the evening dressed in her princess bridal gown. Second, because anyone who peered close enough and got a glimpse of her eyes knew she was a Freak. But this was Skytown. Her bridal gown was not nearly as fascinating as the couple who’d donned the full medieval regalia of a knight and his winged fairy enchantress. Nor the geared and hissing, iron and bronzed, half-man, half-mechanical cigar-puffing robber baron from America who had a predilection for ballerinas.

As for being a Freak, Willie was one of a few like souls and several pretenders. Aye, there were those who reveled in being mistaken for a supernatural freak of cross-dimensions. They dressed in the colorful and bizarre fashion known as ModVic. They preened and paraded about as if being a Freak was akin to being a celebrated artist, someone who was revered or admired for being extraordinarily special.

Their hero worship would be flattering if it weren’t so naive. Obviously they did not understand the true plight of Freaks. However, Willie did not dwell on the notion overly long as she might have done another time.

Everything Willie saw, heard, or experienced this night was overshadowed by the intense passion burning between her and her new husband. There was a possessive and protective quality about Simon that she had not noticed before. The way he placed his hand at the small of her back whilst guiding her though a crowd, the frown he bestowed upon any man who stared too long at her cleavage, his pithy reply to a Vic who’d made an off-color remark about her supernatural skills . Had the man not been so roaring drunk and ready to pitch over, she was quite certain Simon would have called him out. She could well imagine growing irritated with Simon’s sudden commitment to sheltering her from ridicule or harm. But tonight, she was merely charmed and soundly seduced off her time-tracing feet.

Moments ago Simon had obliterated the last of her composure by besting a game of chance and winning her a prize just as he had on one magical night of their youthful courtship. Only this time, instead of a china doll, he’d chosen a mechanical bird. A clockwork canary. She’d pocketed the tiny toy, marveling at how something so chintzy could mean so much.

“I suggest we make haste to our lodgings,” Willie said as Simon purchased tickets for a starry carnival ride.

“Are you ill? Faint? Chilled?” He stuffed the tickets in his jacket with a curse, then readjusted the white fur coat that had come with her ensemble. “But of course you’re exhausted. It has been a long and eventful day and no doubt your shoulder is paining you. Dammit, Willie, why didn’t you speak up earlier?”

“I am neither ill nor faint, but I do have a tremendous ache and unless you wish me to tear off your clothes right here on this deck, in front of these multitudes of visitors—”

Simon scooped her off her feet, causing her to gasp whilst others around them whistled and applauded as he whisked her across one deck, a gangway, and three-quarters of another crowded deck before entering a magnificent canvas and steel structure marked as SULTAN’S SUITES. The colorful fabrics hanging from the walls and draped from the ceiling stole away her breath, as did the shockingly explicit paintings. Her heart pounded as Simon carried her one deck below and down a vibrant purple hallway, bypassing several rooms until he came to a gilded door at the end of the corridor.

Somehow he finessed the lock without bungling his hold on her, although once he’d pushed into the room and kicked shut the door, he set Willie swiftly to her feet. “You were saying?”

His intense gaze fueled her already raging desire, as did the sensual surroundings. The flickering golden lanterns, the draped bold fabrics, the rose petals strewn over the thick Persian rug. The intoxicating scent of musk and jasmine filled the small room, as did a large round bed piled high with satin pillows. That bed was just behind Simon and that bed was where she wanted them both to be.

Lustful cravings eviscerated any semblance of decorum. Willie shrugged off her coat and made quick work of Simon’s jacket. Her left arm did most of the work, but her injured arm managed keenly enough to aid her in her frenzied mission to rid her husband of his damnable clothes. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Or perhaps he was helping her along. Oh, aye, he was most anxious to indulge her wishes. They kissed whilst attacking his buttons and snaps, a frenzied affair that only heightened her excitement as one by one his fashionable garments fell to the floor.

Breaking away, Simon stood before her wearing nothing but a wicked grin. “You got me naked,” he said. “Now what?”

Emboldened, Willie raised a cocky brow. “I could allow you to undress me. Or,” she said, planting a hand on his muscled chest and pushing him back until he fell upon the pillow-laden bed. “I could make you watch.”

The heat in his gaze nearly set her gown afire, burning the silk and lace into oblivion.

Willie relished the heady feeling of power as she ever so slowly loosened the front lacing of her corseted bodice. She reveled in Simon’s frustrated groan as her fingers glided over the satin ribbons, as the décolletage slipped lower, revealing more of her breasts. When he rose up and reached out, she knocked away his hands. “No touching.”

His raunchy muttered curse worked like an aphrodisiac. Never had she been so wanton, so scandalous. She had feared she would feel chained by marriage when somehow it had set her free.

“You’re killing me, wife.”

Why did that endearment drive her so deliciously mad? Ready to reach the tipping point herself, Willie fingered the customized release clasp, a trick sewn into the bodice by the wardrobe mistress at the Fantasy Farm. In a heartbeat, the corset loosened completely and with a mere roll of her shoulders the wedding gown slid from her body and pooled around her feet. Now she too was naked—all but her silky unmentionables and her embroidered pointy-toed mules.

“There is something that I have been longing to try,” she said as she kicked off the shoes.

“Far be it from me to stop you.” Simon watched intently as she shimmied out of the last wisp of silk.

Admiring his impeccable body, she climbed onto the bed, knocking aside pillows as she kissed a hot trail down his chest, his stomach. . . . “It requires you to relinquish control.”

He managed a not-so-pithy grunt, which only spurred her on.

She smoothed her hands over his chiseled abdomen. All she wanted was a taste, a sampling. Living under the guise of a man, she had heard things not meant for a woman’s ears. Things men enjoyed. Sexually.

Heart pounding, Willie kissed the tip of Simon’s erection, then flicked her tongue over the ridge and, in a supreme leap of curiosity, took him into her mouth. A sensual thrill surged through her blood, but he hissed and flinched, reaching down and easing her away. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“You did everything right. Therein lies the problem, sweetheart. I would not last beyond a minute if you continued to pleasure me thusly. My restraint is unusually taxed this night.”