Chapter Five

Nothing stood between Morgan and Olivia in the carriage except pale moonlight and a vacant air that hissed with tension.

Olivia waited as long as she dared and then attempted to relieve the awkward quiet. "You’ll never believe it, Morgan, I recognized someone tonight."

His head turned sharply as he looked at her. "Who?"

"I don’t believe I’ll tell you. It might spoil things."

"What do you mean, spoil things?"

"It would no longer be my private little secret, and besides, it’s one thing to watch someone—"

"Spy on someone you mean."

"Oh have it your way," she said. "I was about to say, it’s one thing to observe someone fornicating; it’s another to reveal their name."

"Who was it, Olivia?"

"Not telling you." She ran her hands down the front of Cain’s shirt. "Oh, nothing in the world compares to desire or love," she said, changing the subject.

"There is one thing better."

A short laugh left her lips. "What might that be?"

"Unrequited lust, desire or love."

Olivia stared, arrested by the raw male potency emanating from the man. Had he just challenged her, knowing she hungered for what she’d witnessed tonight? Damn the cad. He didn’t think she had the courage to take this to the next level. Or did he mean he didn’t give a fig’s leaf if she relinquished her virginity to another man? At that possibility, her heart sank.

"How poetic," she said without missing a beat, still trying to decipher the meaning of his words. "Do you read poetry?"

"Hardly." His gaze narrowed. "Why...do you?"

"I adore Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s love sonnets."

"So Cain tells me."

At his dour response, she continued. "Do you want to know what I observed?"

"No."

"But I have questions."

"Ask your nanny."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me."

"You know perfectly well I no longer have a nanny, and why are you behaving so rudely?"

"I’m tired."

"Well, bear with me, we’re almost home. The questions couldn’t make a man of your repute uncomfortable, and I’m baffled."

He blew air through his lips. "Very well, what is it?"

"Why is it so smoky in there, and what’s that sweet smell accompanying the smoke, and—"

"Opium."

"Opium! Good heavens, Morgan, you took me to an opium den?"

"No, I took you to a fucking den, at your request I must remind you."

She blushed and directed him back to the subject at hand. "The woman smoked it."

He shook his head. "You are such an innocent, Olivia. Of course she smoked it. They all do."

"Why?"

"It’s stimulating, enhances the sex."

"Oh, I had no idea."

"What else? You said questions."

"The first couple—"

Caught off guard, his eyes widened. "You watched more than one?"

"Two," she said, feeling superior. "And therein lays the problem. The second couple, including the man I recognized, performed exemplary, comparable to the pictures I’ve seen."

He rolled his eyes.

"I mean to say, they progressed as I imagined." Here, she paused. "Until he spanked her."

Morgan swallowed hard. "You enjoyed that; didn’t you, Liv?"

"Most certainly not."

"Did you imagine he was spanking you?"

Concentrating on controlling her breathing and mistrustful of her voice, she shook her head. His inflection had changed on the last question along with the sensual line of his lips when he pressed them together.

Recovering from the sudden rush of dizziness and all in favor of goading him further, Olivia continued. "Then, they, you know, did it. Beyond ravenous, he flung her onto the bed and took her from—"

He shifted in the seat, his voice thin. "What is your question about the first couple?"

"Well they never consummated it. He merely..." She licked her bottom lip, Morgan’s proximity searing her senses. Talking to him about such intimacies and feeling the way she did about him unnerved her, yet she pushed onward. She’d touched a chord; she sensed it, her intent from the beginning. Pressing on with her heart in her throat, she blurted, "He pleasured her without using his penis—thoroughly, I might add—and he still paid her."

"Thoroughly, did he?"

"Without question."

"Continue, Olivia, I know you’re going to tell me every tawdry detail, whether I want to hear them or not."

She leaned forward, softening her voice for effect. "He suckled her first and next, placed his head between her thighs." She searched his eyes to read his thoughts, but his magnificent features were staid. "And then, he licked her—"

"Enough, I get the picture." He lifted his hand between them. "What is your question?"

"While there can be no doubt she was wholly, unconditionally satisfied, what did he get out of it?" Shifting back into the seat, she paused. "I mean, why did he squander good money to do such a thing without, you know..."

"Without fucking her, Olivia, isn’t that what you mean?"

Her nipples hardened, and a shudder raked her. "You needn’t be so crude. I just wanted to know why he bothered."

"Because he likes that! Jesus!"

"Don’t be such a ninny, Morgan. You did promise Cain you’d tutor me; take me under your wing so to speak."

"I’m reneging on that part of the bargain," he replied. "I don’t want to tutor you, hear all about your voyeurism. I’ll make sure you get to the next appointment in two weeks and safely home again and that’s all. I don’t want to hear every blasted detail of what you saw. Do you understand me, Olivia?"

"Perfectly," she said.

The carriage rounded a corner on two wheels, eliciting a scream from one of the horses. "Something must have spooked one of the—"

The transport swerved. Hurtled from the seat, Olivia ended up on the floor at Morgan’s feet. He reached for her and pulled her into his lap until her legs straddled his hips, her breasts pressed against his chest. Whatever had happened outside, the driver seemed to have everything under control.

How Olivia wished she did.

Their eyes locked and time stopped on the periphery of some distant plane. Morgan’s hand tangled in the long hair at the back of her head, and he drew her to him, his mouth demanding and ravishing. Her heart quickened. His tongue parted her lips and swept through every crevice as if to memorize the taste of her. She pressed her body against him, reveling in the feel of every hard muscle of his chest and the strong thighs beneath her. He quit her mouth and bestowed breathless, titillating kisses along her neck and throat, sending tremors through her blood.

"You like that, don’t you, Olivia," he whispered against her ear. "And this," he said, slipping a hand down her pants to massage the juncture between her thighs with his fingers.

She clenched her teeth and stifled a moan, her pleasure peaking in a delirious state. Oh, God, yes, she almost moaned aloud.

His fingers caressed the outer folds of her sex, bare flesh against bare flesh. She twisted beneath him and clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his taut skin. She had to stop this or soon he’d take her on the seat of the coach. She strained her hips away from him, but he would have none of that. His erection prodded her belly, and his free hand slid to the small of her back. He held her immobile and forced her to acknowledge his physical desire. Guiding her hips in a slow rotation, and with his fingers still stroking her sex, Olivia’s body throbbed and quivers of ecstasy surged through her.

"Morgan, please, you must stop," she groaned.

"Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t it why you went to Immortelles?"

"No. I mean, yes."

"Touch me, Olivia."

God help her, she wanted to.

"Do it," he said.

She allowed her hand to wander between their bodies and close around his manhood through his trousers. She gasped, the sensation of touching him both shocking and delicious.

"Say it, Olivia. Say you want me inside you. Give in to your desire. Admit you lust after me like I lust after you."

It was so erotic, so decadent, her on his lap with him caressing her most private parts and she stroking his manhood.

The carriage stopped. He removed his hand from her pants and set her back onto the seat with an all-knowing smirk. For Olivia, it was like a dream. It couldn’t have happened, yet why did she burn all over, hunger for more?

She straightened her clothing and tried to recapture the same haughty air she had assumed earlier. "Well, here we are," she said, placing a hand on his forearm. "Thank you, Morgan. I do appreciate your assistance."

His smirk evaporated, and he looked as though he’d like to strangle her.

"I’m confident that at the conclusion of this adventure I’ll recognize more of Cain’s friends. Yours too," she said, continuing, pretending nothing had passed between them, yet dying inside. "I’ll be able to come to a sensible decision."

"Think nothing of it," he said, and she knew he was doing his best to control his anger.

A beaming smile preceded her next words. "Oh, one more thing; who owns L’ Amour Immortelles?"

"I haven’t the foggiest. Why?"

"I asked Madame Rousseau if I could meet him or her, and she said it wouldn’t be possible. She seemed rather secretive."

"Did she?"

"Yes. Is it a secret?"

"I’m sure I don’t know. I’m just a client, remember?"

"Well, no matter," she said with a flourish of her hand. "Perhaps one day I’ll have the privilege of thanking him or her for the opportunity." She waited for a reaction from him. Lacking one, she changed subjects again. "Don’t forget that next week Lark and Cain are hosting a ball at L’Esperance in celebration of their engagement. You do plan to attend, don’t you?"

"Wouldn’t miss it." This time there could be no mistake about his morose tone or expression. "Just think, Olivia, you might run into the man you recognized tonight."

"I’m confident he’ll be there, he always shows."

With a frown and still seated on the plush burgundy cushions, Morgan held out his hand and assisted her from the coach, his distinct masculine scent invading her senses. She wiggled past him and stepped to the ground. The touch of his hot hand on hers burned her to the very core.

Dear God, she couldn’t maintain this charade much longer. Her heart drummed in an arduous beat, and she turned to him one last time, doing her best to keep her voice level. "Just think, Morgan, won’t it be fun? You’ll be looking at every man present, wondering who it is, and only I know his identity."

He snatched the hat from the seat and tossed it into her hands. "You might need this to scare the crows from the garden, Olivia."

It dawned on her at that precise moment that he hadn’t called her Liv once during their conversation. Throughout their childhood, he had always called her Olivia when disgruntled with her about one thing or another.

"Good night, Morgan," she said over her shoulder, her voice dripping honey while she scurried toward the steps of L’Esperance. Pulling the cloak around her, Olivia couldn’t breathe by the time she entered the manor and closed the door behind her.

"No man should be that handsome," she mumbled, her blood on fire. He radiated pure animal magnetism, and she, heat, just looking at him. Smug satisfaction enveloped her. Morgan had done all he could to keep from looking at her, had tried to keep his expressions and his tone complacent, yet she had seen through his façade from the moment they left the brothel. He could pretend nonchalance all he wanted, but he was demonstrably upset with her for visiting L’Amour Immortelles, and it meant one thing...he did have feelings for her.

Treading past the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief that the lanterns had been extinguished and all appeared quiet. The floor creaked behind her.

"What is ya doin’ sneakin’ by my kitchen dis time of da night, Missy?"

Tension knotted her neck. "God’s teeth, Cook, you frightened the demons out of me!"

"’Bout time someone shake ’em loose from ya. What is ya doin’ moonin’ over Mastah Gatewood again? An’ doan tell me dat wasn’t his carriage jess leavin’."

"Oh now, Cook, Morgan just brought me home from a social in Savannah, that’s all."

"Doan ya go lyin’ ta me, Miss ‘Livia. Why yer Pappy must be turnin’ over in his grave, dah way ya chasin’ afta dat wicked man."

She stiffened. "I am not chasing after Morgan Gatewood, I assure you. We are friends, nothing more."

"Is dat why ya nearly swoons every time dat silver-eyed devil walks inta dah room?"

"I most certainly do not." She lied.

If animals could resemble humans, Cook’s face took on the visage of a crafty hawk about to sweep down on its prey. Her neck arched back, her chin drooped, and her ebony eyes narrowed. "An’ why is ya wearin’ dat wrapper in dis hot weather?"

"Rain," she said, strangling on the word. "Morgan sent me back into the manor to retrieve it because the sky looked threatening."

"Lord above, dare ain’t nothin’ more threatenin’ to ya on God’s troubled earth dan dat handsome scoundrel."

Olivia managed a feeble, "Yes, ma’am."

"Off ta bed wid ya now," Cook said, her kind eyes troubled. "Ah jess doan want ta see my lamb hurt again, is all."

She had been hurt, mortally, the night Morgan acquiesced to her father’s dictums ten years ago. Cook had been the one to soothe her tears and hold her long into the night while she cried a river of tears over the man. If it hadn’t been for Cook’s intervention, Morgan would have finished what he had started. She had been kissed, groped and almost ravished by him...deliciously so.

Olivia delivered a peck to her cheek. "Don’t fret about me, Cook. Morgan no longer holds the power to hurt me."

A little humph scratched the back of her throat as she shuffled off. "Doan say Ah didn’t warn ya."

With her mind in a state of turmoil, Olivia walked up the stairs, and once in her room flopped down onto the bed. She had to garner Morgan’s attention somehow.

And she would, or die trying.