The Prince

For the rest of the afternoon, Kingsley worked in his office. Or pretended to. In reality he merely stared at reports from the managers of his various clubs and enterprises, while his mind lingered thirty years in the past.

How…how had it happened? Had he known? Thirty years…how could anyone...it made no sense, yet it made perfect sense. He refused to believe it, but it was the only explanation. He wanted to rejoice, knowing the truth now. But what was the truth?

Christian. He should go talk to Christian again. That priest knew more than he’d said. He’d tried…tried to tell Kingsley, but couldn’t.

“Sophia,” Kingsley barked into the phone. “I need to return to Maine. Make the calls.”

“Oui, monsieur? When?”

“Now.”

He hung up before the girl could say another word. Now was no time for conversation or questioning of his orders. He considered calling Søren, but decided against it. Søren had an uncanny gift for reading people. It served him well as a priest and a Dominant, but made it nearly impossible to keep any secrets from him. One look and he would know that Kingsley knew…knew who their stalker was, who the thief was, and the motive behind the threats.

Threats. Only threats, Kingsley reminded himself as he returned to his bedroom and pulled on his jacket. No one had been hurt yet. Just a dog. And no one would get hurt. Not if he could help it.

He headed down the stairs and toward the front door of his town house. He had to get back to Saint Ignatius, get more information out of Father Christian. And he would, if he had to string the priest up by his ankles and flog him.

“Monsieur?” Sophia called out as his butler raced to open the door for him.

“No time, Sophia. Take a message.”

“It’s Master Griffin, sir. He’s at Mistress Nora’s home.”

“Lovely news.” The door opened. He saw his Rolls-Royce idling out front on the street.

“But, sir…he needs to talk to you.”

Finally, the panic in his secretary’s voice penetrated Kingsley’s fog of concentration. He whirled around and faced the girl, who stood pale and shaking, a black phone in her hand.

“About what?” Kingsley asked, not wanting to talk to Griffin, already fearing the worst.

“He says he got to the house as fast as he could but…”

“But?”

Sophia swallowed, her pale skin now white.

“Someone got there first.”

SOUTH

This was what heaven felt like. Had to be. All his life he’d heard about heaven from pastors and preachers and teachers. He’d read it about it in the Bible, learned about it in Sunday school... Heaven was paradise where everything became complete, where man saw God and rejoiced in the knowledge that this place of ethereal beauty and utter peace would last forever and ever.

Wesley looked down and smiled at the sight of Nora’s hair draped across his stomach, her mouth around him, taking him between her lips, caressing him with her tongue. A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach as she moved from the base to the tip, over and over again.

“Nora…I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

Nora paused long enough to give him a look of amused annoyance. “That is sort of the point.”

“But—”

“No butt,” Nora declared as she stroked him with her hand. “We’ll do that later. Blow job now. I’ve wanted to blow your bugle for years. Shut up and let me.”

Wesley laughed as she put her lips to the bugle tattoo on his hip and gave him a noisy raspberry.

“I’m in much less danger of coming now.”

“I can fix that.” Nora moved to take him in her mouth again, but Wesley caught her off guard by rolling her onto her back and sliding down her body. Without a word of protest, she opened her legs wide and Wesley pushed easily into her wet heat.

“Sorry…” he whispered into her ear. “I just needed this.”

“It’s okay.” She wrapped her legs around his back and drew him even deeper into her. “I need it, too.”

He did need. Inside Nora he felt…he couldn’t even think of the right word for it.

Complete, maybe…that’s what Wesley felt when inside Nora. He lacked for nothing as she lay beneath him, her thighs wide and open, her br**sts rising with every gasp of pleasure, her dark eyes glowing like the aura that surrounded the moon. Her skin…so soft…he’d dreamed so long of touching her. But the parts that he’d fantasized about—her br**sts, her thighs—while as spectacular as he’d hoped, paled before the parts of her that had never before entered his imagination. If he kissed her spine a few inches under her neck, her shoulders would raise and she’d laugh like a child. Lower…if he touched the small of her back with his fingertips, she’d moan like she did when he’d penetrated her the first time. He’d never felt anything softer than the skin at the back of her knee or underneath the bone of her ankle. This was the second time he’d made love to her that night. At one point during the first time, she’d put her legs on his shoulders and he’d turned his head to kiss the inside of her calves. She had a tiny birthmark by her left ankle. How had he never noticed that before?

“You’re so quiet,” she whispered as she arched beneath him. He loved the way she moved when he slowed down his thrusts. She’d stretch out like a cat in the sun and sigh luxuriously. “Something wrong?”