Page 43 of From London, With Love
Every inch of her looked regal, but there was a sense of vulnerability about her. A woman daring to pursue passion for the first time. Lifting her foot, he braced it on his thigh. Her skirts tumbled over the pair of them as his hands began their slow caress.
“What are you doing?” Her voice rose.
“Kneeling as supplicant,” he told her. “So I can worship my queen.”
“Gideon!” she gasped.
“The first time I saw you, I could not look away,” he whispered, toying with the silk ribbon of her garters. He tugged one loose. “You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. You stared the prince consort in the eye in the middle of court and told him to damn his blood taxes. They were not going to rise.”
Alexandra’s lips parted. “They did rise.”
“Slowly,” he whispered. “But I never forgot your defiance. I looked at you, and for the first time in my life I knew there was hope for the realm.”
Pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, he breathed in the scent of her.
“You inspired me,” he admitted. “You were so brave. And I spent years wishing I had half your bravery.”
Capturing her thighs, he pushed them apart. A tremor ran through her, but as their eyes met, he realized it wasn’t one of fear, but of desire.
He kissed his way up her thighs, encouraged by the way she threw her head back. The rasp of her breath filled his ears, and he deliberately dragged his stubbled cheek across her inner thighs.
“Gideon.” Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Gideon, what are you doing to me? Oh.Oh.”
He rubbed his face against her drawers, his tongue finding the seam. The silk was wet with her musk, and she cried out as he parted the seam of her drawers and found the secret heart of her. Curling his palms under her ass, he tugged her toward his mouth, and then plunged his tongue inside her.
“Oh!” Her cry rent the air, and he caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks and startled eyes. “Gideon! What are you—?”
Enough. Enough talk. Enough protest.
He kissed her wetly, driving his tongue into the slick heat of her body as she cried out again. Fingers curled in his hair, shocked cries filling the antechamber.
The musky taste of her body was exquisite. But the quiver of her thighs—the uncontrolled clenching of her fingers—almost undid him.
This was Alexandra laid bare, all her guarded trappings stolen from her, as she was forced to surrender to him.
This was his queen, the woman he loved, and damn him for a fool, but if he never had the chance to touch her again, he’d ensure that both of their memories were branded with every second of this encounter.
She came with a cry, her body wilting against the door. “What have you done to me?”
Wiping his mouth, he pushed to his feet and swept her into his arms. “I have barely begun.”
Chapter 12
Kincaid pushed open the door to the mechanical jewelers, glancing up to check that this was the right address. “Think there’s anyone here?”
Charlie followed on his heels, coughing under his breath at the dust that had been dislodged. “Shopkeepers rarely leave their wares unattended. And if they do, then they’re not long in business. Judging from the dust on these shelves, this fellow’s been around since the time of my great-grandfather.”
Shelves lined the shop, filled with all manner of mechanical trinkets. A feathered parrot watched them from a cage, an automaton’s head stared glassily at him as Kincaid bent low to peruse the shelves, and several metal gauntlets lay covered with dust. He flexed his metal hand, staring at the gauntlets. “He’s a mech,” he said, judging the work. “Ironmonger enclaves, by the look of it.”
“A mech creating jewelry?”
“I don’t think he does the cutting of the gems.” Kincaid looked around. “No, this fellow’s the one who created that beacon, and most likely those gyrfalcons.”
Movement shifted.
“What’s that?” Charlie seemed jumpier than a cat in a factory full of mousetraps.
Metal clanked on metal, and Kincaid relaxed as he heard the familiar sound of pistons moving mechanical joints. “It’s a servant drone.”
