Prologue

Rose

February, 1896

He loved tasting the two of us together.

As Moore eased down the length of my body this morning, that familiar wicked gleam in his eye, I could hardly wait. He had just pulled out, his orgasm still seeping from my center, and I trembled with unfulfilled lust. I was delirious for him.

My breath caught in my lungs when his tongue met my pussy, his growl vibrating in my very soul. Then his tongue slid over me, swirling, dancing. Worshiping me with his mouth. He seemed dedicated to his task, lost in the act, and I wasn't complaining. Moore knew exactly what I preferred after three months, and each lick and suck sent sparks up my spine. Tension coiled inside my belly, my muscles growing taut, and I gripped his hair in one fist to hold him closer.

Shutting my eyes, I chased the high and rocked my hips. Moore was an expert at this. He once said he'd choose licking me over fucking me any day. I was glad we never had to choose because I loved it all.

I swore I'd never become a rich man's mistress. I traveled that path before and it ended in heartache. Therefore, I resolved to keep my liaisons casual and sleep with a man only once, no matter what.

But then I met Moore.

And there was every possibility that I'd fallen in love with him.

Indeed, a cliché for a mistress falling in love with her protector. But Moore was different. He was a good man, a caring man who looked after me like no one ever had. We talked about anything and everything and I made him laugh. Mostly, I wanted to bring him happiness, as he did for me.

He lifted his head. "Are you mine?"

I gave him the words in my heart. "I'm yours, Moore. Yours alone."

He hummed deep in his chest, then sucked on my clitoris once more. "Oh, god ." I clutched his hair in my fist. "God, yes. Darling, don't stop!"

Then I was soaring. Pleasure flooded my veins and I started convulsing, shaking with the force of the orgasm he'd wrenched from my body. It went on and on, his tongue never letting up as I continued to come, nonsensical words falling from my lips and into the yacht's lavish cabin.

When I finally collapsed onto the mattress, he eased up and gave my intimate flesh the sweetest of kisses. "Was that good?" he asked with a crooked half-smile, already knowing the answer.

"Come here." I held my arms out until he crawled higher and stretched beside me. "You know it was good." I kissed his jaw. "Any better and I'd incinerate."

He pressed his lips to mine and gave me a deep kiss. I tasted myself, but also the mint from the fancy tooth polish he used. He paid a pharmacist to import it from France, because only the best would do for Mr. Alfred Moore Emerson III.

We broke apart, but didn't pull away. His mouth hovered over mine, our warm breath mingling. "Christ, I already want you again."

Moore liked when I used crude words. Women in his world never did, so I made it a point to say them whenever possible. "Fuck me again, Moore."

As if on cue, he lunged for my mouth, his kiss urgent and hungry. His palm cupped my breast and squeezed. Eventually, he eased back. "Damn it, woman. I do have to leave this cabin at some point today. There's a mountain of work awaiting me."

"The work can wait." I nipped his lower lip with my teeth. "I haven't seen you much this week. Stay and make it up to me."

I knew I sounded needy, something I swore I'd never be with a man again. After all, I'd pleaded once to another and it had done little good. Humiliation followed, an entire community casting me out.

Yet I'd missed Moore these past few days. Thank goodness he'd taken me on a sail where it was just the two of us surrounded by miles of cold ocean water.

His blue eyes were soft with affection and sincerity. "My darling Rose, you know there is nowhere I'd rather be than here with you."

"Prove it."

"Rather thought I just did," he quipped, tipping his head toward my lower half.

"You're impossible." Smiling, I smoothed the sweaty hair off his forehead. "Let me remove my womb veil. Then I'll return."

I started to rise, but he caught my arm. "Wait. I need to talk to you."

The serious manner in which Moore spoke the words gave me pause. He was normally relaxed with me, a generous lover who was so different from the broody man I first met.

I ran the underside of my foot along his bare calf. "What is it, darling?"

"Something has arisen this week. I'm trying to manage it, but I wanted you to hear the news from me instead of the newspapers."

The happy warm feeling disappeared as dread settled in my stomach. "Are you ill? Is it something with your business?"

"Nothing like that." He exhaled heavily and stared at the wall. "It's a nuisance, really. And it won't affect what we have."

"Is it the town house? I told you I didn't need you to buy it." Yet Moore had insisted, saying it offered better privacy than a hotel and the money was a drop in the bucket to him. But if he was facing financial hardship, I would easily give this up. I didn't need his money—I just needed him .

"You're keeping the house." His voice was stern, unyielding. Exactly like the powerful tycoon he was. "And I don't care to rehash that argument."

"Then please, tell me what is going on."

"I am engaged."