The narrow, metal staircase leading to the aviary folded back upon itself several times before it reached the roof. A hatch opened to reveal a low wall supporting an arch of iron and glass that protected the message-carrying skeet pigeons—and them—from the afternoon’s soft, misty rain. At one end, a glass door. At the other, a square window—propped open—allowed the clockwork birds entry and exit. A corner of the space had been appropriated for more than birds. Warmed by the sun’s occasional appearance, a small potted garden of purslane, rosemary and fennel thrived upon a low bench.
Steadying herself on the iron railing she climbed into a different world where, through grit and soot-smudged panes of glass, all of London stretched before her. High overhead, silver dirigibles dotted the sky. Slate roof-tiles glistened in the dim light while smoke rose in billows from thousands of chimneys. Thousands of windows glowed—some yellow with oil, some a brighter white with gas, and a few with the blue tinge of bioluminescence.
Colleen pressed her palms against the cool glass. In this vast city, rooftops meant freedom. Exploring the possibilities that lay above London had saved her mind from the gloom that descended following the loss of her parents, of her forced relocation. “So breathtaking. Always.” And in the raincloud-muted light, her spectacles were unnecessary. She tucked them away and turned to watch Nick.
He was all brisk business and impatience, examining the legs of the six skeet pigeons who perched upon the aviary’s interior ledge. For years they’d circled each other—beneath both the glow of chandeliers and the twinkle of starlight—sharing casual flirtations. Light touches. Pointed, knowing glances. And details of their lives not meant for anyone else. Never quite daring to fully enter the other’s orbit. Until now.
“No message yet from the constabulary,” he reported, selecting a dispatch canister from a metal box and inserting a tightly rolled scroll. “Funds are being transferred to your employer as we speak. I assume you keep a punch card with his location near at hand?” He lifted a bird from its perch, fastening the canister to its ankle.
Mr. Witherspoon hadn’t been pleased at her request. Though he’d agreed to reveal the buyer’s name for a hefty sum, the skeet pigeon hadn’t contained a return token. A clear message that—had she not retired—her employment would have been terminated. But Mr. Witherspoon knew Colleen kept a backup punch card, permitting her to contact him by bird one last time. Not that she wished to return to his employ. Not after what she’d found in that burnt-out shell of a laboratory.
Pushing all dark thoughts aside, she smiled. Nick would like this.
“I do.” Lifting her fingers to the first button beneath her chin, she turned to face him as she unfastened her bodice, letting silk panels fall open to expose the lacy trim of her chemise.
His eyes brightened and the corner of his mouth lifted. Silent, but keenly attentive, Nick raised an eyebrow and waited.
With the edge of her underbust corset revealed—along with a generous bit of cleavage—she extracted a pen knife from the pouch at her waist and slit the half-dozen threads that held shut a tiny pocket sewn into its hem. She extracted a punched address card and pressed it into his palm. “It’s my last token.”
The pulse at his neck jumped. “Don’t move.” He pointed at her. “Not so much as a single extra button.” With deft fingers, he slid the punch card into its slot, then quickly wound the skeet pigeon’s mechanism. Wings flapping, Nick tossed the bird into the gray London sky before turning the full force of his intense gaze upon her.
“Does a rooftop aviary qualify as exotic?” She hoped so. For once they were alone with no one in pursuit and nowhere else they needed to be. A brief window of time open to them before a message arrived.
He glanced at her, swallowed, then flipped the hatch closed, kicking a bar across it to ensure there would be no interruptions from below. “Do you want it to?” Desire darkened his eyes as he closed the gap between them.
“Desperately.” She tugged at his cravat, urging him closer.
He gripped the edge of her jaw, tipping her face upward, searching her eyes for any objection. “Anyone might catch a glimpse.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “In this weather? Unlikely, but they might. Will that stop you?”
“Not a chance.” The dam broke and his mouth crashed down upon hers. Their tongues tangled and plundered as spikes of pleasure zinged though her body. She tightened her hands upon his coat, anchoring herself upright as her world tilted off center and plunged her into a kiss so deep it stole her every last breath.
He pulled back, nipping at her lip. “More?”
“You need to ask?” Her voice was huff of frustration.
Impatient fingers fell upon the buttons of her bodice, finishing the task, pushing the silk from her shoulders and down her arms until the garment fell away. He tossed it over the railing, then froze. All his attention focused upon her as she tugged the drawstring of her chemise loose and slid the straps down her shoulders. The lacy-edges caught upon the swell of her breasts.
“All the way,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
“As you wish.” A cold, damp breeze drifted across her bare breasts, peaking her nipples. She arched her back and dragged a fingertip over their swell, a clear invitation.
His eyes flashed, but he spun a finger in the air, denying her. “Turn around. Hands against the glass.”
This was new. And most definitely exciting. She complied, bracing herself. In front of her, all of London glittered with light and swirled with fog. She might miss the countryside, but the city held such an interesting variety of secrets within its many nooks and crannies. Including—the corners of her mouth curved upward—rooftop trysts.
Hands skimmed over the boning at her waist, over the metal fastenings that held her corset closed. But made no effort to free them. Instead, his broad, warm palms moved upward, cupping and caressing her breasts as his mouth sank against the skin at the nape of her neck. A soft bite that spoke to primitive desires, electrifying every nerve ending and sending her heart racing.
“Is this what you want? A touch of danger?”
She rocked back against him—against the stiff evidence of his arousal—and groaned at the sensation. Need built to a fever pitch.
He nipped her earlobe. “Say it,” he whispered over the skin beneath her ear.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.” This moment—atop and apart—far exceeded anything her imagination had dared to conjure.
For too many years, she’d dreamed of ending their flirtatious dances by dragging him from the ballroom onto a dark balcony to steal a kiss. But with a reputation to maintain, propriety had always won. No more. At last he was hers, and she intended to make the most of it.
With a groan, he nudged her forward, pressing her bare breasts against the cool, smooth glass and her hips to the low, brick wall. His body was hot and hard at her back, crushing her with just the right pressure as his warm, demanding mouth explored the curve of her neck.
She let her head fall backward onto his shoulder. Every touch fanned the flames that licked across her skin as a wet heat gathered between her legs. Was this really her, tossing all inhibitions aside to give in to every wanton desire? It was. Her only regret was that they’d wasted so much time denying each other.
His fingers caught at her skirts, hiking them higher still, settling them about her hips. “Yes,” she breathed, rocking her head sideways to nip at his neck. Waiting with sweet anticipation.
He eased back, giving himself room to touch her. To run his fingers across the top edge of her stocking, to discover she wore no knickers. Abandoned in his room, they lay among the last vestiges of her inclinations to follow society’s rules. “Aether,” he whispered. “I’d thought to find red silk.”
“Last night you would have.” She pushed backward. “Disappointed?”
“Not at all.” His hand shifted and dipped between her legs to stroke her. Gentle yet firm, extracting the maximum of pleasure. Her hips flexed, eyes drifting shut as need coiled and twisted, tighter and tighter and—
Rough, calloused hands gripped her bare hips and spun her about, lifting her, propping her on the edge of the low wall. “Wait for me,” he growled.
Feet dangling, she grabbed at his shoulders to brace herself. Her lungs dragged in a ragged breath. “Hurry.”
“Foot on the railing behind me.” He tore at his waistband, as desperate for her as she was for him.
He was going to take her—back to the glass—where discovery was a distant, but real possibility. No gentle, careful explorations in the dark. Rather a raw, primal coupling. Perfect. She lifted a leg, catching the heel of her boot upon the steel bar, watching as his cock fell free, thick and heavy.
“My turn to touch.” She caught his length in her hand—smooth, hard, hot—and stroked from tip to base. Aether, she wanted him deep inside her.
From his coat pocket, he drew forth a wrapped sheath and pressed it into her palm. Another first. Never had a man placed so much control in her hands. Without letting go, she tore the paper with her teeth, covered him, then lifted her gaze to his.
Dark with arousal, his eyes stared down at her, hazy with lust and… something more. His gaze pierced straight through her heart. “Have you any idea how many times I’ve imagined this?” His voice was a growl. “At the end of a shadowy garden path. Behind a rooftop chimney?”
“Atop a sturdy desk in a stranger’s study? I’ve lost count.” She clawed at his cravat, pulling his lips down to hers. As his mouth devoured hers, she unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat, of his shirt. At last, the warm, firm skin of his chest and stomach met her hands. Skin she wanted to feel against her own. Wrapping hands about the mounds of his tight buttocks, she tugged him closer. “Stop wasting time.”
Again, his hands slid up her thighs, shoving aside layers of skirts and parting her legs before him. He touched her center and—finding her wet and ready—entered her with one hard thrust. “Yes!” Lightning ran up her spine and shot through her limbs as he claimed her, and she gasped at the sensation of him filling her.
Slowly, he began to move, his long length sending darts of pleasure radiating through her. Heart pounding, she panted, digging the tips of her nails into his skin, urging him deeper still.
His intense thrusts came faster now. She closed her eyes and mewled her pleasure as the smooth glass at her back grew warm, as the rough brick beneath her dug into her soft flesh, as the rough scattering of hairs upon his chest brushed across the sensitive tips of her breasts. So many sensations, all of them building as he drove into her again and again and again pushing her ever closer to her peak.
“Nick!” The tension snapped and pleasure exploded in repeated waves of pleasure.
Once, twice more he plunged into her, stiffening as the spasms of his own release overtook him.
Braced against rough and smooth, Colleen wrapped her arms around his hot and heaving chest, hanging on as her world tilted, as she rearranged every expectation she’d ever had for a husband. Nick had shattered them all and the pieces no longer fit together. Worse, the tender feeling tugging at her heart would need to be ruthlessly leashed and caged, lest he glimpse the emotions roiling through her mind. She needed to think about this, about how—a mere two days from freedom—a man had managed to steal a piece of her soul.
She rested her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
Was it possible to see stars in a cloud-covered sky? Nick closed his eyes and found the celestial bodies still dancing before them, a lingering euphoria unlike anything he’d ever experienced. In his arms, Colleen’s soft curves melted against him, mere moments after she’d come apart, screaming his name. A wildcat in… well, not in bed. On a wall.
He grinned, entirely too self-satisfied for such a brief encounter. With the pent-up passion of days, weeks, no, months of flirtation finally released, might they manage to take things slower next time?
Next time.
Hot and sweaty, their bodies were still fused. His skin touched hers at all the right points, and he was reluctant to part, to let so much as a thin layer of cool air rush between them. He’d been a fool not to act sooner.
He’d kept his past affairs simple, short and sweet. Much like their own flirtations had begun. But with each passing interaction, words shared between them had grown richer with meaning, as he’d caught glimpses inside her curious and exceptional mind. She’d wormed her way into his heart, and he could think of nothing he wanted more than to call one Lady Colleen Stewart his wife.
As her fingertips traced cords of muscle up and down his back beneath the linen of his shirt, an unsettling twist buried itself deep in his gut. He’d managed to make her his fiancée, but would two days be long enough to convince her they ought to stay together?
Fiancée. Shit. He’d meant to tell Colleen about the very real wedding plans that might even now be taking place several stories beneath their feet, but when she’d sliced that punch card from the edge of her corset, his mind had short circuited, leaving behind only the most basic of thoughts.
He would warn her. In a moment. After he’d stolen a few more seconds to revel in the glory of finally holding the only woman to ever steal his sleep and invade his dreams. He brushed his lips over the skin of her neck and felt her shiver beneath his touch. “Walls and desks and chairs are all well and good, but I want more.” More than rooftop trysts. “I want to stretch you out fireside so that I might peel away and examine all your layers. Slowly. One by one.”
Her head lifted and a cool rush of air invaded the space between them. “Likewise.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat. “But as we’re trapped here on the roof, we might move to the bench and explore other options.” Eyeing the rosy tips of her nipples, he stirred inside her, and she laughed, throaty and low. “Or we could stay here.” She flexed her hips. “That works for me.”
“Vixen.” He caught her face in his hands and brushed a thumb over her swollen lips, grateful fate had landed them both on the same roof—chimney side—one particularly dark night.
Her fingers slid down his backside, urging him—
Crack.
A dull crunching sounded against a glass window pane. Their gazes caught, then turned toward the noise. A rusty skeet pigeon jerked and slipped upon the rooftop, dragging a broken wing as its internal programming insisted upon reaching the final, preprogrammed destination. Not far away, an overlarge black cat crouched, tail twitching.
“Is that… Sorcha?”
“It is.” She sighed at the interruption. “It’s rather a habit of hers, I’m afraid.”
“That makes two wildcats on my roof.” He grinned against her skin. “It appears we must postpone our activities. Work calls.”
“Flaps,” she amended, her lips curving upward as she tugged the two halves of his shirt together. “No worries about the message, she’ll drag it inside in a moment.”
He relaxed his grip on her hips, pulling free as he lowered her onto the rooftop and silently cursed the resilience of one particular mad scientist. “The constabulary prefers boots on the ground and the element of surprise—the better to read a guilty expression—and sees no reason to invest in maintaining a flock.” A poor investment, his coin. The bobby had done no more than pocket it. “When forced to send a skeet pigeon, they snatch up the closest bird. One that is clearly no match for an interested feline.” He tucked himself away as she drew her chemise back into place and reached for her bodice.
“Indeed. I, for one, want to look into Dr. Farquhar’s eyes while I ask my questions.” Anticipation lit a flame in her eyes. “Before we’re done with him, I’ll want to know who supplied him with a cat sìth. Fairy tale or not, such cats are rare and ought not be stolen away from their homes.”
“Not only that, but I want to know who was funding his research. And why.” He held her gaze, even when guilt urged him to look away. She needed to know. Now. “About our engagement—my father insisted upon a few slight alterations to our plans.”