refusing to rub at her rump where his boot heel had been moments before. “We’re compromising, I’m not capitulating. Papa would need bait, to draw the Gypsy in. You said I should look for what was missing from the collection, remember? What did he take?”
She watched as he made use of the jack in the corner, hoping the leather of his boot would be irreparably marred. Sometimes one had to be content with the small pleasures in life.
“He called it the Mask of Isis,” Jack said as he joined her once more in the middle of the room, seeming to fill the room with just his presence. “She supposedly was some Egyptian goddess.”
“I know who she was. She gave birth to both the heaven and the earth—and is allegedly responsible for several other things I can’t remember.” His shirt was gone now, and if she was going to tell him to leave she should say it now, and mean it. Since she wouldn’t mean it, she satisfied herself with a ridiculously obvious question. “So then it’s quite valuable?”
“Things fashioned of solid gold usually are, yes,” Jack said, and she suddenly realized he was unbuttoning her dressing gown. “It’s a face-size mask, not a bust, although I doubt it was made to actually be worn. Too heavy for that, by half. Her facial features were painted on the gold, although the paint is fairly worn off, but Sinjon assured me it was Isis depicted there. Something about a headdress in the form of a crown, or some hieroglyphic that stands for the word crown? I don’t know, Tess. He let me hold it, probably hoping I’d feel what he did, the glory of possession. I just felt its weight, and knew it was worth a king’s ransom. Maybe that’s what he’d hoped I’d feel, since he planned on making me his thief.”
She loved this. Joining with him, mind to mind, as they worked out a problem, a scenario, and agreed on a solution. There was an excitement in the process, yes, almost a sexual excitement, and the two of them had more than once made love while at the same time planning out the details of his and Sinjon’s latest assignment from the Crown. They were so alike, she and Jack. They neither of them cared for simple things, easy answers. They went for results yes, but the real pleasure came from the twist, the unexpected, never doing the obvious.
She still kept his only present to her, an eight-sided rosewood box made up from dozens of smoothly interlocking pieces. It had taken her days to solve the puzzle and be rewarded with the small golden locket hidden in its center. A locket surely meant to carry their miniatures, but that now carried those of her mother and brother.
She’d loved the locket. She adored the rosewood box.
“Then that’s clearly the bait he plans to use now, as he did with you. The Golden Mask of Isis.”
“I thought you wanted to tell me things I hadn’t already thought out on my own. Perhaps we’re done talking.” He slipped his hands inside the dressing gown to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightrail, began stroking her taut nipples with the pads of his thumbs.
She took a deep breath. “That’s…distracting.”
“Really? I’d hoped for more than simple distraction. I like your breasts like this, Tess. Fuller, heavier. Did you suckle him? Did you put my son to your breast?”
“Emilie was rather past the duties of wet nurse,” she said, closing her eyes as Jack’s touch, Jack’s words, performed their sweet seduction.
He began lightly pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Was he greedy? Like his father? Did you ever hold him to your breast, and think of me?”
She could barely breathe, couldn’t swallow. “Emilie…she said that was natural. That…that I might…might feel things. That the suckling was meant to stir my womb, tighten it after…after the birth. But it wasn’t like when you— Jack. Oh, Jack, don’t…don’t do this…”
But he was doing it. He had bent his dark head to her after exposing her
She watched as he made use of the jack in the corner, hoping the leather of his boot would be irreparably marred. Sometimes one had to be content with the small pleasures in life.
“He called it the Mask of Isis,” Jack said as he joined her once more in the middle of the room, seeming to fill the room with just his presence. “She supposedly was some Egyptian goddess.”
“I know who she was. She gave birth to both the heaven and the earth—and is allegedly responsible for several other things I can’t remember.” His shirt was gone now, and if she was going to tell him to leave she should say it now, and mean it. Since she wouldn’t mean it, she satisfied herself with a ridiculously obvious question. “So then it’s quite valuable?”
“Things fashioned of solid gold usually are, yes,” Jack said, and she suddenly realized he was unbuttoning her dressing gown. “It’s a face-size mask, not a bust, although I doubt it was made to actually be worn. Too heavy for that, by half. Her facial features were painted on the gold, although the paint is fairly worn off, but Sinjon assured me it was Isis depicted there. Something about a headdress in the form of a crown, or some hieroglyphic that stands for the word crown? I don’t know, Tess. He let me hold it, probably hoping I’d feel what he did, the glory of possession. I just felt its weight, and knew it was worth a king’s ransom. Maybe that’s what he’d hoped I’d feel, since he planned on making me his thief.”
She loved this. Joining with him, mind to mind, as they worked out a problem, a scenario, and agreed on a solution. There was an excitement in the process, yes, almost a sexual excitement, and the two of them had more than once made love while at the same time planning out the details of his and Sinjon’s latest assignment from the Crown. They were so alike, she and Jack. They neither of them cared for simple things, easy answers. They went for results yes, but the real pleasure came from the twist, the unexpected, never doing the obvious.
She still kept his only present to her, an eight-sided rosewood box made up from dozens of smoothly interlocking pieces. It had taken her days to solve the puzzle and be rewarded with the small golden locket hidden in its center. A locket surely meant to carry their miniatures, but that now carried those of her mother and brother.
She’d loved the locket. She adored the rosewood box.
“Then that’s clearly the bait he plans to use now, as he did with you. The Golden Mask of Isis.”
“I thought you wanted to tell me things I hadn’t already thought out on my own. Perhaps we’re done talking.” He slipped his hands inside the dressing gown to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightrail, began stroking her taut nipples with the pads of his thumbs.
She took a deep breath. “That’s…distracting.”
“Really? I’d hoped for more than simple distraction. I like your breasts like this, Tess. Fuller, heavier. Did you suckle him? Did you put my son to your breast?”
“Emilie was rather past the duties of wet nurse,” she said, closing her eyes as Jack’s touch, Jack’s words, performed their sweet seduction.
He began lightly pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Was he greedy? Like his father? Did you ever hold him to your breast, and think of me?”
She could barely breathe, couldn’t swallow. “Emilie…she said that was natural. That…that I might…might feel things. That the suckling was meant to stir my womb, tighten it after…after the birth. But it wasn’t like when you— Jack. Oh, Jack, don’t…don’t do this…”
But he was doing it. He had bent his dark head to her after exposing her
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