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She was warm, slick, and ready for him. Her hand moved on his member persuasively. “Take me,” she ordered. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Hard. Fast. Now.” She bit his lobe, and he couldn’t contain himself.
He pushed her back against the wall and thrust into her. The wall shook as he rammed into her. Good God, had he hurt her? He’d never lost control like this.
“Don’t stop,” she cried, and moved against him.
He thrust again, savoring the slick feel of her. She closed around him like a glove—damp, dark, lovely. He shut his eyes and thrust again, and the house seemed to shake. She threw her head back, and he rode her hard. Her hips urged him on, her moans were driving him mad, her body slammed against him edging him closer and closer to climax.
Everything in him cried out for release, but he couldn’t give in yet. She was still straining against him. He was watching her face, and more than anything he wanted to see her eyes, look into those dark pools, when she came. He was a skilled lover, but he was not usually unselfish. As with everything else, Gabrielle brought out that side of him.
Finally, just when he was certain he could not hold on any longer, that the house could not withstand any more of their frenzied lovemaking, her legs tightened around his waist.
“Look at me,” he growled. “I want to see your face.”
Her eyes were an unfocused, muddy blue. She blinked, locked her gaze with his, and shattered. He saw the first streaks of pleasure pierce through her and then the slow rise upward. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He struggled for control as his own climax began. He set her down, pulled out, but as he would have turned away, she caught him with her warm hand. He buried his head in her neck. She still smelled of lilies. Even in this city of death and murder, she smelled sweet and innocent.
“That was…” She let out a long breath.
“Yes.” It was all he could think to reply. He’d never felt like this with another woman. He was incredibly sated, and yet when he looked at her, he wanted her again. He didn’t think he would ever get enough of her, though he wouldn’t mind trying…
He handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her hands. “I…thank you for thinking of me.” She was all politeness. He wanted to throw her on the bed and strip away those clothes she was straightening along with her polite veneer. Gabrielle wasn’t polite—she was brave, daring, passionate.
“Should we—“
Pounding sounded on the door below and they both stilled. Shoes clicked on the wood, and Ramsey realized Alex must have returned home while they were otherwise occupied.
He hurriedly refastened his clothing as he heard voices ordering her to stand aside.
“Soldiers,” Gabrielle murmured.
Boots clomped on the stairs, and Ramsey had not time to think of an escape. Alex was talking to them, chirping away in a sweet voice full of innocence.Think,he commanded himself. But he had no idea why the soldiers were there. Had they discovered he and Gabrielle were the thieves from the night before? Had the comtesse and Lord Antony been caught? Had Toulan turned on them?
There were so many possibilities that Ramsey didn’t know what lie to fabricate.
The door beside them slammed open, and the leader of the patrol who had come that first domiciliary visit smiled at them. “We meet again.”
Alex was beside him, and immediately Ramsey knew they were in trouble. Her eyes were wide. She was making every attempt to keep calm, but he could see by her quick breathing and the way she darted her eyes from him to the soldier she was panicked.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Gabrielle said, nodding politely.
“Do you think so, citoyenne?” the soldier reached in his coat. “Or should I call you Lady McCullough?”
Gabrielle didn’t even blink. “Citoyenne is fine.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Alex demanded.
The soldier gave her a passing glance as he fingered a set of thick papers. “If I were you, citoyenne, I would not involve myself in this matter, lest you want suspicion cast upon yourself.”
“I—“
“She knows nothing of my real identity,” Gabrielle said coolly. “I lied to her, and my false papers are quite convincing.”
Ramsey detected a small shake in Gabrielle’s voice, but only because he was beginning to know her so well. If he had not, he would have believed her completely unruffled. It was almost as though she expected this. He wished he had, because he had no idea what was going on.
“I have an order for your arrest, Gabrielle McCullough.” The soldier had opened the papers and was reading now. “Viscountess McCullough, otherwise known as Gabrielle Leboeuf.”
“On what charge?” Alex demanded.
Ramsey wanted to speak, to behave indignantly as well, but he felt as though he was surrounded by honey and all of his movements were too slow, his thoughts lagging behind.
