Powder of Sin by Kate Rothwell Page B

that?”
    But she apparently didn’t hear the question, for she
left without answering.
    Soon after she left, Reed gave in to curiosity. He
fished through his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring that held
keys and other useful items. Really, the desk presented no
challenge at all.
    Even as he fit the pick into the lock, he wondered
why he was doing it. She’d asked him to leave it alone, and he
wasn’t a thief. This was not the sort of behavior he was used to in
himself, and he wondered if perhaps he’d spent too many hours in
Clermont’s company.
    He just wanted to see the powder that had caused her
worry. She seemed such a levelheaded woman. He’d wager that a woman
who had dealt as efficiently with Clermont as Miss Ambermere had
could not be easily rattled. Yet when it came to talking about this
“substance,” she paled, almost got the wide-eyed twitchy look of a
cornered rabbit. He’d do her a favor, relieve her anxiety. And he
looked forward to seeing her grateful smile.
    The only thing in the bottom drawer was an object
wrapped in newspaper. As he unwrapped it and stared down at the
little well-polished box, he felt a frisson of unease. He was not a
susceptible man, but perhaps her fear was contagious. Such a small
box couldn’t be dangerous, but it was so…unusual. He stroked the
wood, cool and silky, and the feel of it thrilled his hand. He
pried it open and saw another box inside. Such an urge to bring it
to his face, rest his cheek on that slick surface…
    No! He had to fight the bizarre desire. He forced
himself to push the lid down, drop the box, and shove the drawer
closed. His fingers trembled slightly as he relocked the drawer.
Curiosity and longing raged through him. Had the damned thing
called to him to break in? Nonsense. It had been an unfortunate
impulse of a man who’d spent months holding impulsiveness and
animal behavior at bay. The thin screen of civilized behavior was
crumbling.
    He’d be damned if Clermont won. He’d pick a woman
for Reed, he’d said. And watch him fuck her. A woman.
    Then the image of her filled his mind. That
hair, thick and glossy, down and spread by his fingers. Her skin
would be soft and supple, and he’d feel it with every sensitive
nerve, now alert with need. His hands, his tongue, his cock—on
her.
    Reed gasped. He rubbed his face, and that didn’t
seem to help. He groped for tea and drank the whole scalding cup
down.
    Jesus, even the pain in his mouth seemed to increase
the pleasure—or rather, the longing for pleasure. He didn’t have
many calluses on his fingers now that he had a soft job, and the
warmed, slick porcelain begged him to feel the texture of the
rounded curve of the cup, the complex texture of the handle.
    Holy mother of God; the chemical was real. And if he
didn’t do something about his raging erection, he’d never be able
to stand up in front of decent people. That part of him begged for
release. Her. He wanted her. His cock needed her.
    He forced himself to think. Combating sensation and
desire so he could think proved almost impossible. He’d bring
himself off. That would be the best answer. Once drained—Oh God;
unless it was with her, it would never be enough. And why couldn’t
he touch her? Their bodies were made for this.
    They could touch and taste, and he would at last
bury himself in a warm, silken woman. Slide over her skin, slide
into her , deep. So many women every day paraded in front of
him. Naked or in the thinnest of gowns. During his time keeping
watch over Clermont, he’d seen so many breasts, hips, curves, backs
and bottoms and cunts. Once, and only once, at the start of his
job, had he grown so desperate he’d indulged with a woman, and that
was months ago. Alone for months. And now the months of deprivation
hit him hard—and the one woman he wanted most was just rooms
away.
    He grew dizzy as he fought back and reminded himself
this hunger was only part of him. He was more than need.
    The door opened, and she