Chapter Sixteen

During his first year at Scotland Yard, Kincaid had been ordered to investigate an abandoned factory in the middle of the night. Although the factory, once home to the largest manufacturing company in London, had been shut down for nearly half a decade, the owner continued to store large pieces of expensive equipment inside the crumbling brick building, and he was worried about trespassers after he’d passed by and seen a flicker of candlelight from within.

Kincaid was on the third floor when a storm rolled in over the Thames, bringing with it a wall of thick, eerie, gray fog that spilled through the broken windows and pooled on the floor like dragon’s breath.

He’d begun to make his way back down the rickety staircase when he heard it. The unmistakable creak of a board, followed by the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor directly below him.

Withdrawing his pistol from the folds of his greatcoat, he had descended the stairs as silently as a cat, every muscle in his body poised to strike. Except it was as black as pitch inside the factory, and with the bloody fog on top of it he did not see the man behind him until it was too late.

The pistol went flying when he was tackled to the ground. Grunting, cursing, he grappled with his attacker, managing to land as many blows as he received despite his unfamiliarity with his surroundings and the damned faceless bastard outweighing him by at least two stone.

A blow to his jaw sent him reeling. As blood filled his mouth, he reached for the knife he always kept tucked in his boot. As he grasped the hilt, lightning exploded across the sky.

The massive bolt lit up the factory, allowing Kincaid to see the second assailant charging towards him with a metal pipe clenched between his meaty fists. Kincaid ducked, then spun around and slid his knife between the man’s ribs. The pipe fell with a clatter, and both of the brutes scurried off into the darkness like rats into the sewer.

Breathing heavily, Kincaid bent forward, his hands on his knees and his head hanging limply as his heartbeat gradually slowed. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then staggered to the nearest wall and leaned against it as a boom of thunder shook the factory.

If not for the lightning, he would have been dead with his head bashed open. That violent surge of electricity had saved him. More than that, it had changed him. In those few precious moments between the blinding white flash and driving his blade into flesh, he had been faced with his own mortality. His triumphs and his failures. All he had accomplished…and everything he had yet to do.

When Joanna leaned down and kissed him, another bolt of lightning, straight from the hand of Zeus, shot across the sky.

This one came from inside of his soul, but its point of origin made it no less potent or powerful. And as he wrapped his arms around the tempestuous, fiery American who had been driving him wild since she first sauntered into his office, Kincaid’s life was changed as it had been then in that dark factory all those years ago.

Why, he asked himself as their lips parted and he sampled the delicious nectar of her mouth. Why had he denied himself this? Why had he damned himself to hell when he could have been living in heaven?

Yanking up her skirt and all the blasted petticoats that were underneath it, he grasped her hips and lifted her effortlessly onto his lap. Her knees hugged his ribs, her boots falling to the floor with a soft thud as she hooked her ankles around the back of his chair.

His cock surged between them, hard as a railroad pike, and her neck muffled his groan when she wiggled closer, inadvertently stroking herself on his arousal.

Had her kiss happened ten minutes ago, he would have stopped their desires here. Before it went too far for either of them to control. They were already teetering on the brink. A ship about to plunge into deep, untested waters. But having stripped his soul bare, he had no inhibitions left. No compulsions to do what was right. What was honorable.

And thus, he chose what was wicked.

But how could this be wicked when it felt so bloody good?

His fingers dove into Joanna’s coiffure, scattering pins in every direction as his mouth forged a blazing trail down her neck to her shoulder, which he nipped before burying his face between her breasts.

She leaned away from him, shamelessly offering her taut nipples to his tongue. He licked them through her gown, but the fabric mocked him. With a growl, he grabbed the back of her dress and quite simply tore it away, along with the cotton shift underneath. This time, she wore no corset, for which he was exceedingly grateful, and a whistle of appreciation formed between his lips as the sinking sun bathed her naked skin in an orange glow.

“Better,” he murmured as he devoured the sight of her breasts. Perfectly formed, they were neither too large nor too small, rounded beneath and slightly concave on top, with nipples painted a dusky rose. “Much better.”

He suckled one sweet tip and then the other, lavishing attention upon the sensitive buds until Joanna was all but writhing and her slender arms trembled from the exertion of holding herself upright. Lifting his head, he gazed at her from eyes heavy lidded with lust. Her cheeks were flush with color. Her hair cascaded over her body in a luxurious wave of crimson. Her lips were parted, her breaths coming in small, little pants.

She was a vision. A masterpiece. A goddess.

He’d never seen anyone so beautiful. He was almost afraid to touch her, for fear that some of his darkness might tarnish such raw, ravishing magnificence. But how could he deny himself such delicious pleasure?

As need warred with logic, as past mistakes mingled with new, he picked her up and changed their positions so that she was sitting in the chair and he was kneeling in the middle of her long legs. A few tugs, and her drawers and stockings were gone until the only thing she wore was her perfume. It wrapped around him in a haze of violet that reminded him of the first day they’d met. She’d smelled of rain, then. Rain and flowers and a hint of desperation.

With the exception of the rain, nothing had changed.

His knees dug into the floorboards as he braced his hands on the armrests of the chair, his hungry gaze drawn to the auburn curls nestled at the apex of Joanna’s thighs. She was already damp with passion, and a growl rumbled deep in his throat as he imagined sinking his hard, pulsing length into all of that wet, clenching velvet.

“Let me taste you,” he said hoarsely, lifting his head. “Just a taste.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t under–oh,” she gasped when he sank between her legs. A gasp that turned into a moan when he pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee and began to kiss his way up, up, up until he reached the center of all her breathless passion.

Using his thumbs, he delicately parted her folds to reveal the glistening pearl within. His hands sliding around to cup her plump bottom, he lifted her to his lips, a king dining on a banquet of riches.

“Kincaid? Kincaid. Kincaid!” She spoke his name as a question, an answer, and a plea as he began to lick with slow, lazy sweeps of his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

When the flames threatened to consume them both, he slid a finger into her. Just up to the first knuckle and then back out as he used his mouth to tease and torment her small nub. Gradually, he worked his way to the second knuckle, and then the third.

Her head thrashed. Her legs wrapped convulsively around his hips. He sensed that she was teetering on the brink, and even the gentlest of nudges would send her spiraling into oblivion. But this time, he wanted to go with her. This time, he wanted to jump off that peak together.

Drawing out her ecstasy, he loosened his trousers and sought his own. Using the moisture gathered at the head of his cock to stroke himself as he stroked her, he brought them swiftly to the brink where they teetered, their breaths and souls entwined, before he tightened his fist while simultaneously plunging his tongue into all that slick, satin heat.

Side by side, they fell.

* * * *

“My other stocking is under the bed, I believe. Thank you,” Joanna said when Kincaid retrieved it for her.

Pointing her toes, she guided the crumpled linen up and over her calf before securing it with a plain ribbon tied in a knot. “I think that should do it,” she said breathlessly. “Except for my shoes.”

“And your hair,” he said quietly as he lifted a curl off her shoulder, a rare half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The same mouth that had just brought her unimaginable pleasure.

It looked the same, she thought. It was the same shape. The same color. But, of course, it wasn’t the same at all. Not now, not when she knew what that mouth was capable of.

Pure, unadulterated sin.

And she’d loved every decadent second of it.

In all of her wildest imaginings, she never dreamed of a man doing to her what Kincaid had just done. When he first kissed her down there she’d been stunned speechless. Even a tad embarrassed. Now, she wondered if anything of a carnal nature would ever shock her again.

She very much hoped it would.

“Evie’s going to be furious with me,” she said ruefully as she gathered her disheveled hair at the nape of her neck.

“Your sister.” Kincaid’s countenance went blank. “I forgot about her. Had she walked in…”

“But she didn’t,” Joanna said when he trailed away.

And thank goodness for that, or Evie would have seen much more than she wanted.

“Still, I should have known better.” Retrieving his spectacles from his waistcoat, he gave them a brief cleaning before placing them on his face. “I could have behaved better. Miss Thorncroft–”

“If you apologize, I am going to take this shoe,”–reaching blindly under the chair, she managed to retrieve an ankle boot–“and hit you over the head with it. We were both willing participants in what happened, Kincaid. If anything, I should be the one to apologize for taking advantage of your weakened emotional state.”

His eyes narrowed. “My weakened what?”

“Nothing,” she said cheerfully. Dropping the shoe, she bounded to her feet.

She felt…weightless. Energized. As if she could conquer anything in her path. Which was a good thing, as the object currently in her path was a six foot, three inch, scowling detective who appeared as if he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her again or bolt out the door.

Kiss, she decided, making the choice for him.

Lightly pursing her lips, she pressed them to his rough cheek where he’d allowed a day’s worth of bristle to grow, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Thank you entrusting such a personal piece of your past with me. It helps me to understand why you’ve put up such a guard.”

His gaze endearingly tender, he trailed a fingertip along her jawline, then flicked the middle of her chin. “I do not have my guard up.”

Joanna gave a tiny snort. “Any higher and the Chinese would accuse you of stealing a section of their Great Wall.”

“You’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are, Miss Thorncroft.”

“And you’re not nearly as cold as you think you are, Mr. Kincaid.” Canting her head, she poked the middle of his chest. “Given where your mouth has been, I believe it would be socially acceptable if you began calling me Joanna.”

To her great delight, he actually blushed.

How utterly adorable.

As she went to the dressing mirror and attempted to repair her coiffure, all traces of lingering anger faded away as stars brightened her eyes and love swept into her heart, carried on a wind of hope and possibility.

Now that she knew why Kincaid was the way he was, his infuriating behavior made perfect sense. Why he would start to get close to her, only to abruptly withdraw. Why he always seemed to be fighting himself as much as he fought her. Why he was so fixated on her role as his client, as if it were an insurmountable hurdle that couldn’t possibly be overcome.

She did not blame him for the way he’d acted. Not after learning how Lady Townsend had used him, manipulated him, and then discarded him as if he were a shawl that had fallen out of favor.

What a wretched, vile thing to do.

Collecting a handful of pins, she began to place them indiscriminately amidst her curls. Without Evie’s skill or patience for elaborate hairstyles, the best she could manage was a loose bun coiled on top of her head that was more or less centered, but it would have to do.

When Kincaid came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, she met his gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked, batting her lashes.

“I think you look perfect. Miss Thorncroft–”

“Joanna,” she reminded him.

A shadow flickered across his face. “Joanna, there is much we need to–”

The door burst open.

“Are you coming with us to the hotel or not?” Evie demanded, her expression vexed. “Mrs. Benedict and I have been waiting downstairs for hours.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been hours.” Joanna frowned when she saw that Kincaid was now all the way on the other side of the room by the window. Given his quickness, and his abhorrence for being caught in any sort of intimate position with her, she supposed she was lucky he wasn’t on the roof. But how nice it would have been if he’d stayed right where he was.

“Well it’s been a long time and–what on earth happened to your hair?” Evie gasped.

Joanna touched the bun. “It…fell out.”

“It fell out?” She looked at Kincaid in suspicion. “I do not want to speculate what you two were doing up here, but I am nearly positive it wasn’t proper. Jo, let us go. I can fix that nest on your head in the carriage. We’ve reservations, and Mrs. Benedict said the host is very strict with them. If we miss our table, it will be given to someone else!”

“The horror,” Joanna said dryly. Gathering her coat, hat, and gloves, she slipped back into her ankle boots, then slanted Kincaid a glance. “Would you be kind enough to accompany us to the door?”

Together, they reached the receiving parlor where Mrs. Benedict was fretfully pacing.

“There you are,” she said, visibly relieved. “Our hansom cab is waiting.”

“Our apologies, my sister and the detective were discussing the case,” Evie said smoothly.

“Oh! Have you managed to locate the ring yet?” Mrs. Benedict asked Kincaid. “So tragic, what happened.”

“Not yet,” said Kincaid. “Although I have a solid lead.”

“You do?” Joanna and Evie said in unison.

“What didn’t you tell me?” Joanna demanded.

“I was going to,” he said meaningfully, “but we discussed the other case instead.”

“Ah, yes. The…the other case,” she said as her cheeks warmed.

Evie’s gaze swept back and forth between them before she grabbed Joanna’s arm. “Whatever it is will have to wait until tomorrow, because our table will not. Goodbye, Mr. Kincaid. It was nice to meet you at last.”

“You as well, Miss Thorncroft.” He tipped his head at Joanna. “Miss Thorncroft.”

“Joanna” she mouthed over her shoulder as Evie dragged her away.

She thought–but couldn’t be sure–that Kincaid smiled.