Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] Read online

  Maddy wasn’t all that surprised when the shop owner crossed to the door and bolted it, turning her sign to Fermé.

  “The shades,” MacCarrick said. “Otherwise patrons will knock.”

  With her lips thinned, she said, “Yes, monsieur,” and motioned for an assistant to draw the curtains.

  Nearly clutching her chest in relief, Maddy gave him a shaky, grateful smile. He was expressionless for a moment, his eyes flickering over her lips and eyes; then he cast her a scowl as he strode over.

  “Why are we avoiding that man outside?”

  He seemed to be analyzing her, and she found herself having difficulty lying to him—a handicap she hadn’t encountered for years. “Just someone I’d rather not see.”

  “Have you stolen from him?”

  “No, never! I’ve never done anything to him. It’s just…I owe him a bit of money.”

  “He’s the one who sent the thugs after you?” When she nodded, he said, “What would you borrow from him for?”

  “Dresses. I needed dresses to go to London.”

  “How much do you owe?” He looked to be patting his pockets for his money—to pay off Toumard? When she hesitated, he said, “You will no’ indulge me with an answer, Madeleine?”

  “I don’t even know,” she admitted. “He changed the interest to an escalating rate. I can’t keep up with it.”

  “You were late to pay him, then?”

  “No, not before he changed the terms of the deal.”

  MacCarrick narrowed his eyes. “Is that so? You dinna find that strange?”

  “I did. But it’s not as if I could go complain to anyone.”

  “You can now, lass,” he said, curling his fingers under her chin. “We’ll take care of this matter before we leave. I will no’ have you fretting over this.”

  Just like in London, he was acting heroic and protective. Just like in London, she found herself gazing up at him in that way that made him glower.

  When the modiste delicately coughed to get their attention, he gruffly said, “Go on, then.”

  The woman led Maddy back to the dressing room. The space was large, with a silver tea service and a wine rack inside, made to cater to a woman’s mother and sisters and friends, consulting on a new wardrobe or ball gowns for the latest season. Maddy felt a jab of disappointment at the thought that she would be alone.

  She’d just undressed to her shift when MacCarrick strolled in. He sank back on a divan, relaxing his towering frame with a kind of lethal grace. He didn’t appear discomfited in the least. “She can dress in front of me,” he said, his tone bored as he opened his newspaper. “It’s nothing I have no’ seen before.”

  The shopkeepers shrugged, no doubt having seen this again and again.

  Had this been anywhere but Paris, Maddy might have protested, but he’d just saved her from facing her despicable creditor. How could she deny MacCarrick anything?

  The near encounter only reinforced her intention to stay with the Scot. She could put up with much never to see Toumard again—oh, and to be fantastically rich—even trying on clothes in front of MacCarrick.

  But every time they pulled a gown above her head, her shift rode up, exposing her bottom to him—and her front as well in the four-way mirror. Just as embarrassing, she’d caught him frowning at her scar, and he even seemed to notice when others peered at it.

  Over the next hour, she tried on day dresses and evening dresses, skirts and blouses, cloaks and gloves. A milliner was brought in to see to her hats and bonnets, and a shoemaker provided pair after pair of colored satin slippers and boots of a buttery soft kid leather.

  She already had enough clothing for several days, but after MacCarrick and the modiste spoke outside, additional dresses were unexpectedly available to Maddy—appropriated from someone else’s tailored wardrobe.

  At first glance, these garments were hideous, but then she realized that, hidden under the weight of tasteless trimmings, the dresses were cut well, with a modern flair even, and made of expertly styled fabrics. As usual, some rich Parisians had gone overboard with the embellishments—but then, they’d probably wanted to demonstrate their wealth at every turn.

  To make the gowns her own, Maddy simply directed the seamstresses to take them in and discard the abundant tassels, tufts of silk flowers, and fur pom-poms.

  Once she’d selected everything but undergarments with nary a comment from MacCarrick, they stripped her down to her stockings and garters to try on lingerie.

  She was as mortified as a provincial when she felt his eyes on her. She willed herself not to raise her hands for cover, sighing in relief each time they slid a nightgown over her.

  MacCarrick was holding up a paper, but she knew he wasn’t reading. He kept turning it aside until he set it down completely and leaned forward on the edge of the divan. His lids grew heavy, but his eyes were alert and flickering over her. She reminded herself that she could endure this scrutiny and more for all that MacCarrick was doing for her. Even being displayed in lingerie to his fancy.

  Though he’d had no interest in the dresses, he voiced his opinions on the lingerie forcefully. “In the red one. I want to see her in the red,” he demanded, his voice growing husky.

  Maddy swallowed, stepping into a crimson gown with two lace-trimmed slits at the sides that climbed all the way to her hips. Even with these women in the room, she began to respond to his attention, her breasts feeling heavier every time he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the lace cups caressed her nipples, she pictured how his muscles had flexed under her fingers this morning. When she recalled how he’d explored her the night before…

  She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing out loud.

  Ethan had never thought he’d enjoy shopping for a woman as much as this.

  He was buying her far more than was necessary, but he was deriving too much pleasure from the process to stop himself. As he watched Madeleine dress and undress, into and out of wicked silks, he abandoned the pretense of reading the paper and used it only to conceal his raging erection.

  Earlier, Madeleine had been nervously darting glances at him in the mirror. Now she held his gaze, her lips parting. Her nipples had hardened and her breaths were shallow.

  Christ, she…wanted him. She’d seen every inch of him, and she’d bloody touched his scar, and yet she wanted him. Was pleading for him.

  He nearly shuddered with pleasure. Her desire was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could imagine.

  “Out,” he abruptly ordered the women.

  “Monsieur?”

  “Take a midday break from the shop. Now.” The look on his face silenced them, and they darted from the dressing room.

  When the door shut behind them, Madeleine swallowed but said nothing.

  “You know what I want, and you know better than to question me,” he said as he neared her, removing his jacket. “I like that.”

  “I won’t question you, even though I wonder if you’ll appease your lust whenever you feel like it.”

  “Aye, with you I will. And it’s no’ only my lust that I plan to appease.” He ran a hand into one of the high slits, then slipped his finger between her legs. When he felt her sex, a harsh sound broke from his chest. She was wet for him, slick and lush. “Seems you might need appeasement more than I do.”

  At that she shoved her legs closed, twisting out of his grasp.

  “Doona close your legs to me,” he growled.

  “Then stop trying to embarrass me!”

  “I was only stating fact.”

  Through gritted teeth, she said, “Make an effort not to.”

  “As your husband, I’ll no’ be denied, Madeleine.”

  “You’re not my husband yet.”

  “If I were, would you let me take you in this room?”

  “Yes, if that was what you desired.” She’d surprised him, but she clearly meant it.

  “I will be soon, so what’s the difference? I want to be inside you. Now.”
>
  She shook her head firmly. “Not until we’re wed.”

  “Then perhaps I should no’ be buying you a new wardrobe as befits a wife, if I’m no’ yet a husband?”

  She stiffened, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not a whore. Buy me the clothes or not, but don’t expect sex in return. And don’t confuse my desire for you—and for self-preservation—with desperation.”

  “And do you desire me?”

  She put her chin up. “Yes. But I can still walk away.”

  “Ah, aingeal, it’s too late for that….”

  Twenty-four

  MacCarrick stalked around her, as if deciding what he wanted to touch or do first.

  “You already know you need me for more than just money or clothes, do you no’?” He seemed angry with her, but she couldn’t understand what she’d done to make him so. Finally he stopped in front of her, leaning in to press his mouth to her neck. As he brushed the straps from her shoulders, his rough palms made a delicious contrast to the silk. “Answer me.”

  “Yes,” Maddy admitted. The garment whispered to the floor, leaving her in nothing but stockings and garters.

  He nodded slowly. “Good lass,” he said, then bent his dark head over her pale breasts. She watched in the mirror, glorying in the way this man seemed to crave kissing her there. His hands were huge, the palms callused, yet the manner in which he worked them over her body was adoring.

  Her thoughts grew dim when he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. After suckling both tips until they were hard, swollen points, he stood fully and walked behind her. Cupping her leg behind her knee, he lifted her foot onto the low stool, spreading her legs in front of the mirror.

  When she glanced away, he said, “Stay like this. I want to see you.” Then he coaxed her to face the mirror as his jet eyes flickered over the reflection—possessively lingering on her breasts and between her thighs. Most wouldn’t find his visage beautiful, but at that instant, he was the most irresistible man she’d ever beheld.

  Just when she was about to beg him to put his hands on her, he cupped her between her legs. Though she’d wanted his touch, she still jerked in shock.

  “Relax, I just want to pet you here,” he said as he spread her legs more. “Look at my finger stroking you,” he rumbled at her ear. “You doona want me to stop?”

  “No…”

  “Then tell me you desire me again.”

  “I do…you know I do.”

  With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, he pressed her up against the mirror, delving his finger inside her wetness from behind. Her damp nipples met the cool glass and she moaned, lost.

  Her sheath hugged his finger, shockingly tight as Ethan lazily thrust it inside her. With his other hand, he wrapped her hair around his fist, tugging her head back so he could watch her reactions in the mirror. How had he ever thought her experienced? Her responses were ungoverned, bare. She was so passionate—and his possession to do with as he would.

  She wore nothing but his ring on that ribbon dangling between her breasts, and her garters and stockings. The red silk of her garters stood out against the pale skin of her thighs.

  “So lovely,” he heard himself say. Her skin was sleek and soft, her nipples dark pink, like the bow of her lips.

  She hissed in a breath when he tried to fit a second finger into her, and her hand shot behind her to his wrist, her arm straight to push him away.

  “Shh, I’ll stop.” He withdrew it. Again that heavy feeling arose when he was reminded of how badly he’d hurt her that night—he hadn’t prepared her. He vowed to himself that when he did decide to take her, he would frig her for a damned hour till she begged him for it. “Here, put your arms back around my neck.” She hesitated. “Just trust me.”

  Once she tentatively grasped his neck, he began to tease her nipples, lightly pinching the tips. When she moaned, he ran one hand from her breast to her flat belly then to her sex, but she tensed. “Trust me. Let me make you come….”

  She gasped at his words but allowed his touch. With one hand, he spread the flesh around her clitoris wide and smoothed the pad of his other forefinger side to side over her swollen little bud. “Do you like that?”

  “Oh, my God, yes,” she said, panting. Soon she was trembling, her hands gripping his neck tightly. Keeping her open, rubbing her clitoris over and over, he watched as she grew wetter, her flesh glistening. When she began to undulate her hips to his fingers, he thought he’d spill in his trousers.

  With her brows drawn, clearly aching for her climax, she met his eyes in the mirror. “Ethan,” she whispered, saying his name for the first time.

  And it sounded like a benediction.

  In a flash, he understood that she hungered for this passion and pleasure, but that wasn’t all she was longing for at that moment. There was yearning in her eyes, so raw and furious he was staggered by it. Then her lids slid shut, which was good, because he was shaken.

  “Let yourself go,” he grated at her ear, barely recognizing his own strained voice. “Come for me, Madeleine.”

  When she did with a strangled cry, he knew she was his.

  He leered at her reflection as her back arched, her breasts quivering. He felt a savage thrill as she rolled against his finger, tensing and shivering to his touch. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You like that.”

  He slowed his strokes as the tension began to leave her body. Though he had a fierce need to come, he decided he’d further demonstrate to her that he was no horrible lover. He dipped his finger into her wetness, spreading it all around. Without warning, he sped up the rhythm once more.

  “What…?” she cried, lowering her arms, trying to wriggle away from him, but he looped an arm around her waist to hold her firm. “Oh, God. It’s too much!”

  But he was merciless, rubbing her, kissing and licking her neck, until she’d stopped struggling. When he sucked her earlobe, she began meeting his fingers again. “Do you find me a horrible lover now?”

  “N-no—”

  “Tell me when you’re goin’ tae come again.”

  “Now, now,” she said, the word breaking on a moan. As she climaxed, he slipped the forefinger of his free hand into her sheath, thrusting it fast. “Oh, yes, Ethan! Feels…so…good,” she cried.

  His head fell back, and he groaned to the ceiling, feeling her sex squeezing his finger so tightly, in a rush of wet heat.

  Even after she’d finished, and though he was about to explode, he took his time, delving inside her as she sagged against him. He wanted to accustom her to the feeling, to trust him to touch her this way.

  Her response was so rewarding that part of him said to let this be only about her, to act as though he could give without taking. But when his cock ached like this he didn’t feel very giving.

  Unfastening the front of his trousers, he pulled himself free with a hissed breath. Then taking her hips, he pressed his shaft against her arse, his thumbs covering those dimples above her bottom. He groaned as he thrust over her plump curves, settling between them to grind against her. His cock head was so slick he daubed wetness against her lower back. He could readily come like this, but he wanted her hands on him. He choked out the words, “I need you tae ease me.” He slid his cock against her hip. “Touch it.”

  She inhaled, trying to catch her breath, then nodded. Reaching down, she brushed the pad of her finger softly on the crown, making unhurried circles around the slit, but he grasped her wrist and put her palm to his shaft. “No teasing. No’ yet.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “I’m starving for this, aingeal.”

  “How should I…what do you want me to do?”

  “Stroke me as you did that night in the carriage.”

  When she wrapped her soft palm at the base and drew her fist up, a wave of pleasure and elation swept through him. How in the hell had he lived without this for so long?

  “Tighter,” he commanded, and she gripped him harder. “That’s it.” He thumbed her nipples to urge her on
. “Good, Madeleine…,” he grated. “It’s so damned good.”

  He squeezed her against him, covering her breasts with his hands, groans and coarse oaths breaking from his chest. “Faster.” She did, pumping her fist on him as he bucked into it. “Clever girl,” he rasped against her damp neck, “you’re making me come.”

  At the last second, he placed his hand over hers, pressing down. Yelling out, he ejaculated, pumping hot seed directly against her wicked garter, over and over.

  When he was finally spent, he shuddered and stayed her hand, astonished by the pleasure he’d just experienced, unable to remember its equal, but for the night he’d taken her.

  He still held her against him and wanted to stay like that as they caught their breath, yet he expected her to disentangle herself. Instead, her head fell back against him, and he had the leisure of watching her breasts rise and fall with her panting, her flesh perfectly flushed.

  She caught his gaze in the mirror. Between breaths she whispered, “If you give me a chance, I’ll be a good wife to you, Scot. Just please, don’t hurt me again.”

  “I will no’,” he said, holding her tighter, and for the briefest moment, he might have meant it.

  Twenty-five

  Madeleine stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, touching his scar with her lips—not even seeming to mind.

  Having never experienced this kind of gentle affection from a woman, he had no idea how to proceed with it. She seemed delighted by what had happened, humming as she strolled to the salle de bain to freshen up and change into one of the previously tailored dresses.

  When she returned, clad in her smart new clothes, with her shining hair braided atop her head, he found himself saying, “We’ll go to the garret now. If you want to take something to your friends, we can put a couple of bottles of champagne on the tab.”

  “Really? For Bea and Corrine?”

  “Aye.” And that one gesture earned him an expression from her that could only be described as adoring—the way she’d regarded him that night in London. He pulled at his collar.