Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

Before he could ponder the question further, an odd chill stole over him-a sensation he well recognized after spending eight years in the spy game.

He was being watched.

He scanned the crowd, but saw nothing amiss. No one’s attention appeared fixed on him. Keeping his movements casual, he rose and glanced around. Hundreds of people milled about, none of whom he recognized, none of whom seemed the least interested in him. Yet he felt the weight of someone’s eyes on him. And he sensed danger.

No one except his butler knew he was here, and he’d sworn Ramsey to secrecy. He looked around again, but the feeling of danger faded, convincing him that whoever had been watching him was no longer nearby. Every instinct screamed that whoever it was had to be connected to the letter he sought, which made Simon’s mission even more urgent. He needed to find that letter-before someone else did.

GENEVIEVE paced the length of her bedchamber, pausing at the window to stare down at her garden. Moonlight bathed the gravel paths winding between the hedges and plants. Usually the sight calmed her, but not tonight. Her thoughts had been in turmoil ever since she’d walked away from Mr. Cooper this afternoon after they’d chatted and laughed together, after he’d flirted with her, and she’d flirted back.

After he’d touched her.

Genevieve closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool glass, recalling the unforgettable sensation of his fingertips brushing over her shoulder. So light a caress to inspire such heat within her. She should have left then. But she’d been enjoying his company and the admiration and want in his eyes. It had been so long since she’d been desired, felt desirable. It had been so long since she’d experienced the longing tug, the yearning of sensual need. So, instead of listening to her better judgment, she’d simply shifted away from his touch and stayed, basking in his attention.

But then he’d laid his hand over hers, and she’d frozen, shocked by the unexpected touch. No one had touched her hands in a year. Fear had momentarily paralyzed her. Could he feel the swollen joints beneath her gloves? Did he know the ugliness that marred her? Would the disfigurement that had caused Richard to reject her affect him similarly? The warmth of his hand over hers penetrated the soft leather, melting her fear with a fire that seemed to engulf her, filling her with the overwhelming need to touch him in return, feel his hands on her, and hers on him. Those unwanted, dangerous needs would ultimately only lead to hurt and rejection. And she’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

But then why, why couldn’t she banish this man from her thoughts? Why could she not rid her mind of the unwanted fantasies he inspired? She pictured herself coming naked to his bed…of having him naked in hers. Kissing, touching, exploring-her hands were perfect as they glided over his body. She should be sleeping in her own bed right now, not pacing the floor with her skin on fire and her heart beating in rapid, hard punches against her ribs. She pressed her thighs together to relieve the insistent ache between her legs, but the friction only served to frustrate her further.

There was only one way to relieve the tension gripping her-a soak in the hot springs. She lifted her head and glanced at the mantel clock. It was just after midnight, but that didn’t matter. She often visited the springs late at night, when the pain in her hands prevented her from sleeping. Tonight she suffered from a different sort of ache, one she hoped a good soaking would diminish.

She kicked off her slippers, replacing them with sturdier boots, then she grabbed the small pistol she kept hidden in her wardrobe. She’d never been threatened in any way, either by a person or an animal during her nocturnal visits to the springs, but better to be careful than sorry. She hurried down the stairs and pulled her cloak from the brass rack by the door. After donning the garment and slipping the pistol in the pocket, she silently left the house. Not that silence was needed. Baxter’s quarters occupied the far corner of the cottage, and he always slept as if he’d been hit on the head with an anvil. Just as well; she knew he would strenuously object to her visiting the springs at night alone. Still, what he didn’t know, he couldn’t worry about.

The moon provided a bright, silvery light, but she could have navigated the familiar route through the thick copses of trees without it. She breathed in the cool, crisp air and immediately felt a layer of tension slide from her shoulders. After a brisk five-minute walk, she arrived. Surrounded on three sides by an outcropping of rocks that provided privacy, the circular spring wasn’t large, no more than eight feet in diameter, the water only deep enough to reach her shoulders. A submerged natural ledge curved around a three-foot section close to the rocks, providing a perfect seat. Genevieve shed her gloves, cloak, robe and boots, leaving her clad only in a chemise. After setting her pistol within easy reach next to her bundle of clothing, she stepped down into the heated water.

She settled herself on the stone seat and breathed out a long, satisfied aaaahhhh as the bubbling warmth surrounded her. The heat brought instant relief to her hands which she slowly flexed, and after several minutes the tightness in her limbs gave way to a delicious languor. Her eyes slid closed and she concentrated on emptying her mind of everything save the soothing sensation of the water lapping around her. Unfortunately, images of exactly what she was desperately trying to forget rose in her mind’s eye…Mr. Cooper. Joining her at the springs. His green eyes devouring her as he entered the water. His body pressed against hers, relieving all the throbbing aches he inspired.

With a groan, Genevieve spread her legs and pulled up her chemise to her waist. The bubbling water caressed her exposed, aroused sex, but it wasn’t enough to alleviate her discomfort. She skimmed one hand over her stomach, between her thighs and separated her swollen folds, while her other hand cupped her breast. With a deep sigh, she imagined it was his hands bringing her pleasure, circling, fondling, tugging, rubbing, delving. A low moan escaped her and her head fell back. She spread her legs wider and raised her hips, desperately seeking the relief that remained just out of reach. She was a single breath away from her climax when she heard a loud crashing in the underbrush, followed by a string of curses uttered in a deep, masculine voice.

Her eyes popped open. She saw no one in the surrounding woods, but the voice was close by. Heart pounding, she reached for her pistol.

“Bloody hell, come back here.” The man’s call broke through the trees, followed by the blur of an animal. A heartbeat later a tall figure skidded to a stop at the small clearing containing the spring. Indeed, he halted barely before he would have fallen into the water.

“What the devil-”

Clearly the intruder saw her pistol because his words cut off and he slowly raised his hands. Genevieve looked up to where he stood illuminated in a streak of silvery moonlight and was about to inform him that she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he came any closer when recognition hit her.

“Mr. Cooper?”

Her relief that it wasn’t some stranger or footpad was quickly tempered by the heat that flooded her. Dear God, she’d just been fantasizing about him, thoughts that had left her teetering on the brink of orgasm. Now here he stood, looking tall and strong and masculine, slightly disheveled and far too delicious by half.

At the sound of his name his gaze snapped up from the pistol to her face. And he blinked. “Mrs. Ralston. What are you doing here?”