23. Chapter 23

Chapter twenty-three

October, 1920

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Rowland felt Iris’s mouth turn down from the motion of her cheeks beneath his palms.

“Of course they’re closed, you’re covering them,” she quipped.

She had been good all the way from Buckland Hall, keeping her eyes closed the entire drive into town. He thought of a blindfold, but he was concerned about the impression it would make for a bystander to see Rowland Sinclair taking an earl’s sister blindfolded into an unfinished building. So he thought better of it.

“I know, but with me behind you, I can’t be sure,” he said.

“You would feel my lashes.”

“They are rather long and beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Flattery means nothing if you aren’t making sure I don’t fall, Rowland Sinclair.”

“In the spirit of that, there’s a step here.”

She halted, lifting her left foot higher off the ground and extending it until she had the flat surface securely under her shoe again. He used his body to support her until she was stable.

“I’ve got to open the door, but keep those pretty eyes shut,” he said.

“They’re shut!” she insisted. “My word, you’re annoying about surprises.”

He kissed her cheek and stepped in front of her. He waved a hand in front of her face, and she didn’t flinch, so he trusted she was being honest. Retrieving the key from his pocket, he turned the lock and opened the door. On fresh hinges, it didn’t squeak the way it used to.

He took Iris’s hand and led her over the threshold. Then he turned her by her shoulders to give her the best view. He stood to the side and switched on the light.

“All right,” he said. “Open.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped as she took it all in. The schoolhouse was unrecognizable from the building it had once been. All the basic structures had been repaired, from the cracks in the walls to the missing floorboards. The ceiling was patched to prevent any more leaks and the walls had a fresh coat of paint on them. The main room was sectioned off into six small rooms, three on each side, and all were equipped with two beds that were secured to the walls. Iris looked at it the way Claire had looked at Buckland Hall—awe in her eyes.

“Rowland, it’s…it’s wonderful!” she cried. “You put in electric lights?”

“Of course. A modern idea needs modern lighting.”

She walked through to peer into the rooms.

“Beds and everything!”

“We still need linens and pillows to put on them, but I think they’ll do nicely,” he said. “And perhaps a dresser or wardrobe for the ladies to store their clothes or personal items.”

Her hand went to his arm. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Beaming, she continued through. Toward the front of the room, where there was once a teacher’s desk and a chalkboard, there was a brand new desk, and a cork board.

“You could have check-in here,” he said. “And keep track of who’s in which room on the board. However you want to do it. It could also be for messages or whatever you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. She ran her hand along the shining oak desk, a dreamy smile on her face. “I’ll have to hire a receptionist.”

“You will,” he agreed. “And you can conduct your interviews…”

He grabbed her hand again and led her into the back office, a small room that he had wallpapered and fully furnished with a desk, chairs, and bookshelves.

“In here,” he said.

“Rowland, it’s beautiful,” she said.

“We still need lamps and such, but I figured I’d let you handle the decoration. But at least now you’ve got something to work with.”

“I hardly know what to say…”

“We also need to think about lavatories. There’s an outhouse behind the building that we’ll leave up for now, but we need something larger if we’ll be housing up to twelve women at any given time. And we’ll want it to be comfortable. I’ve contacted the city council to see what’s allowed so—”

She cut him off with a kiss. He melted into her, his arms finding their way around her waist to press her into his body. Her gratitude came through in the meeting of their mouths. It was difficult to suppress a smile knowing he’d pleased her, but his desire to kiss her was stronger than his pride in himself. So he kept kissing her until she pulled away.

“I’ve never had anyone consider me the way you do,” she said breathlessly. “So…so completely and unselfishly. I can’t tell you what it means to me, Rowland, truly.”

Meeting her gaze, his instincts screamed at him to tell her that he loved her. To lay bare his heart and offer it as well. It was hers anyway. He would have to settle for kissing her, for he didn’t have the words yet.

Her lips folded into his, soft and sweet, until need grew in his lower belly and he deepened it, backing her up into the desk. She sat on the edge and yanked her skirt up until he could see the clips of her garter belt on her stockings. Her thighs fell apart for him and he slid his hand between them. He could feel her heat without even touching her.

“God, Iris,” he groaned.

“Rowland,” she replied huskily, running a hand over his chest. “Bend me over the desk.”

He leaned back and blinked at her. “Sorry?”

“That’s what the gangsters do, isn’t it? Bend their women over the desk?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s been known to happen.”

“You’ve been so sweet to me these past few weeks,” she said, toying with his hair before suddenly gripping it tight and pulling him close. “Fuck me like a gangster, Rowland.”

He grasped her hips, flipped her over, and pressed her body into the wood. When he gripped a handful of her skirt and undergarments and yanked them down over her ass, she gasped. That was when he saw it.

There, on the back side of her hip, black lettering. He froze and examined it, and with a jolt, realized it was a tattoo. More than that, it was his initial, R, in a beautiful script, with devil horns crowning the top of it. Slowly, he ran a hand over it, careful not to press in case it was still sore.

“Surprise,” she purred.

“Holy fuck, Iris,” he sighed. “Where did you get this?”

“A local artist that one of our maids is seeing discreetly. I’ve rather endeared myself to the staff, you see.”

He traced the R with his finger and goose flesh appeared in its wake. “This is amazing.”

“All for you, Rowland.”

Desire surged through him, consuming him from its origin low in his stomach and reaching all the way to the ends of his fingers. He explored Iris’s skin, hoping to tell her through his touch what it meant to him. What she meant to him.

He nudged her feet further apart and reached between her legs. Her arousal coated his fingers as he dragged them up her slit until he found that pearl and teased it swollen. She keened beneath him, her back bending like a bow, taut with anticipation.

“Please,” she whined.

He fumbled with his belt buckle and button, reaching into his trousers to free his hard cock. It was fun to see how hot she got for him, but she had an equal, if not greater, effect on him. Everything she did went straight to his groin, but staring at the tattoo was on another level. It awoke something possessive, animalistic, and criminal in him. This incredible woman was his. She trusted him to bend her over a desk and still respect her when they finished. He had never felt that way about another woman, and he would never feel it with anyone else.

He plunged into her. A satisfied smile claimed her lips as she cried out, and she braced herself against the desk and pushed back, taking him as deep as she could. A low rumble sounded from his chest, and he paid her back with a rough thrust.

“You want me to fuck you like a gangster, Iris?” he teased, running a finger over that tattoo again. “Then be a good girl and take it.”

His hands found purchase on her hips and he thrusted into her as fast as he could go, like a piston, until sweat beaded across his brow. Her cunt flexed and throbbed around him and her breath came in short gasps.

“Rowland,” she panted, and he loved the way she choked on the first syllable.

“That’s right, say my fucking name,” he growled back.

The flesh of her ass jiggled with each snap of his hips, and before he could help himself, he was squeezing the round globes until his knuckles went white. He couldn’t hold on to her hard enough.

His release built in his belly. Iris’s too, with the way her walls clamped down around him, almost as if trying to keep him in place. A few more thrusts, and he knew. Her voice raised several octaves. Her legs went stiff and then trembled with her climax. She let out a contented sigh, and then he was right behind her, spilling inside her with a barely contained grunt, as the tremors of ecstasy rolled through him.

They were still for several moments before he pulled out of her. He buttoned up his trousers before helping her dress, then collapsed into the chair behind the desk. Iris curled up in his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, catching her breath.

“Rowland?” she said softly.

“Yes, love?”

“Hugh has the money to pay you back now.”

They locked eyes. “Does he?”

She nodded. “His wife has inherited a great deal of money from an aunt that died. And he says it’s enough to pay you back. To use his words, we’ll be free of you.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed her temple. “He may be free of me, but you certainly are not.”

“No?” she said with a giggle.

“No, you’re stuck with me.”

She lifted her head to press her lips softly into his. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said. “I’ll be a pain in your arse for the rest of my life. And not just because of that tattoo.”

Her laughter warmed his chest, but the mist in her eyes told him she knew he was sincere. And he was.