Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

“Yet you admonished me! In front of Phin, no less!” Willie paced, hoping to walk off her animosity. Indeed, she felt like a walking powder keg with a short lit fuse. “Then once home—”

“I know. Apparently love has a way of skewing one’s senses.”

Willie stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned to face the man who consistently charmed her with amorous words and kind gestures, only to disappoint on a whim.

He held her gaze, looking somewhat tortured yet sincere. “I love you, Wilhelmina. I fell in love with you twelve years ago and that love never died. Nothing can crush it. Not even, as you say, our disgusting circumstance.”

Heart pounding, she balled her fists at her sides. How she’d longed to hear a declaration such as this, but just now the sentiment rang false. “Sugar words to dilute the bitter tiff? Your timing is appalling bad, Simon.”

“It is,” he conceded, “the bane of my existence. Nevertheless . . .”

Willie ached to stalk past her husband and out of the room. Or to back away and to pace to the window. But her traitorous body stood its ground as Simon closed the distance and took her into his arms. Her smitten heart skipped as she melted under his touch and rested her cheek against his chest. “I’m still angry,” she said in a weary voice.

“I’m still wrestling with volatile opinions regarding our future.”

“I cannot repress my gift.”

“I cannot help but worry.”

“I will not sever my ties with the Freak Fighters, nor ease off our fight for equality.”

“Again, I cannot help but worry.”

“I will not bend to your every demand.”

“I only ask that you bend now and then to my concerns.” He gently gripped her chin and bade her attention. His expressive gaze locked with hers and her knees fairly buckled under the intensity of his regard. “I am and have always been a spontaneous sort, ofttimes speaking without thinking. As Fletcher pointed out, I am not easy to live with, Willie. Then again, neither are you.”

Her damnable heart fluttered. “Are you suggesting a compromise?”

“I’m asking that you trust my good intentions.”

His heartfelt request summoned a twinge of guilt and obliterated the last of her ire. Initially she had succumbed to Strangelove’s threats in order to protect loved ones, and now she schemed to pay off that wretched man with the legendary compendium in order to protect loved ones. She schemed behind Simon’s back in order to procure the clockwork propulsion engine, to protect mankind, and to champion Simon, his family, and her father.

Good intentions.

Heart and mind reeling, Willie rose up on her toes and brushed her lips across Simon’s tantalizing mouth. “As you must trust in mine.”

Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to seal the love he’d professed. To steer Simon’s thoughts beyond their disagreement, beyond their challenging future and her present deception. She could think of but one way to distract her husband beyond measure.

Determined, Willie deepened the kiss, anxious to soothe her soul and to addle Simon’s senses.

Deceit.

As Willie leaned into Simon, as she intensified the kiss she’d initiated, he swore he tasted deceit. Absurd that her fervid affection should leave an unpleasant tang in his mouth, yet he could not dismiss the feeling that this was a calculated seduction. That she wished to distract him with sex, to turn his thoughts away from . . . what ?

This was not the first time that Simon sensed Willie was keeping secrets, but it was the first time he sensed a deliberate and colossal betrayal. What he did not sense was malevolence.

Wary, curious, he disentangled her hands from his hair and eased away with a raised brow. “Should we proceed down this path, I’ll end up taking you on that Oriental rug,” he said with a nod, “or perhaps over the back of the sofa. It would seem my passion where you are concerned runs unchecked.”

“If you meant to dissuade me with that threat, you should rethink your tactics, Simon.”

“Simply warning you that at this rate I cannot promise we’ll make it to the bedroom.”

“Why delay what burns between us now?” She gripped his lapel with one hand whilst using the other to palm his arousal through his trousers. “I have heard it said in the pressroom that some of the most astonishing . . . alliances occur after a heated row.”

Stirred by her boldness, Simon nipped her earlobe and palmed her rear. “I shudder to think of all you heard from other men whilst masquerading as a man yourself.”

“Consider it an education.”

“I strive not to consider it at all,” he said whilst leaning into her brazen touch. It still chafed that she had felt compelled to deny her gender and race all those years. Nor did he enjoy contemplating the rows she’d no doubt encountered whilst incognito. A man did not dwell in London or circulate in skytowns without engaging in confrontations of some form or fashion. But of course she would have developed a fierce independent streak as a layer of protection. Even now, when she no longer needed to go it alone, the Canary persisted in flying solo. How the devil could he earn her confidence? Her unadulterated trust? Bad enough that his brother had kept him in the dark regarding intimate details of his life. By God, he would not be shut out or misled by his enigmatic wife.

As her seduction grew more bold, Simon embraced his own calculated agenda. How better to weaken her defenses than to pleasure her senseless? She thought to distract or somehow manipulate him with sex? “Fair warning, pet,” he said as she loosened the buttons of his trousers. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Warning noted and rejected.”

Simon escaped her touch and, after locking the double doors, plucked her off her feet and backed her against the massive wall of books. Their kiss was wild, their actions frenzied. There would be no foreplay this moment, no lingering or teasing caresses. Simon pushed up her skirts as she struggled with his trousers.

Her hand around his rock-hard shaft.

His hand up her silky drawers.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and cupping her backside, Simon plunged deep. One swift stroke and then another. He made love to Willie with primal urgency, his thoughts ash as his blood burned. He felt her clenching around him, felt her body trembling as he stroked her to orgasm.

Harder.

Faster.

Novels and scientific journals tumbled about them as he nailed his beautiful and perplexing wife against the overcrowded literary shelves.

Deeper.

Slower.

One last thrust . . .

She cried out and he held still. Held back as she shuddered with a tremendous and lingering climax.

Heart pounding, Simon nuzzled her ear. He’d only just begun. He would unravel this woman. He would know her secrets. Motivated by love, driven by passion, he would strip away years of deception and cynicism and lay bare her heart and mind. “I suggest we retire to the bedchamber.”

“I have no need of a bed.”

At once she slid from his body and to the floor, to her knees. Sweet Christ, she took him in hand, working magic on his throbbing member. Adjusting pressure as she stroked, fingers gliding, lips . . . “Ah.” His knackers tightened and his heart stilled when he felt the warmth of her sweet, sassy mouth. At this rate, she would have the best of him in three seconds. “No.”

Simon swept her up and laid her back on the rug, shoved her skirt and petticoats to her waist, and buried his head between her legs. “This.” He ravished her with his mouth. His tongue, his teeth, his lips. He savored. He tortured. He endured as her fingers bit into his shoulders, as they clutched at his hair and pulled, as she bucked wildly beneath his erotic ministrations. When she peaked, his pulse raced and the need to possess her completely, to find his own release, burned with a vengeance. He thought to take her again here, now, sprawled on the floor or perhaps on her knees, but then it would be over much too soon. Where lovemaking was concerned, Willie had made her adventurous streak clear. Her curiosity and ravenous appetite challenged his normally versed control.