“Apparently.” He ripped off the tape and opened the package. Inside, a handgun, complete with a box of ammunition, rested between large pieces of Styrofoam.
He pulled out the gun, checked the chambers, and sighted it toward the window. Wearing the same smile as a little boy on Christmas morning, he tilted it back and forth, feeling the weight of it in his hand, and then opened the smaller box, took out several rounds, and loaded his new weapon. Guns and Henry didn’t seem a likely partnership, except for the shotguns displayed at the manor for killing innocent ducks and pheasants. Yet he handled his present as though he and handguns were old friends.
Something seemed strange about the entire package. “How did Simon ship a weapon and bullets from the UK to the US?”
“I assume he used a source in the States. Quite thoughtful.” He placed the gun in the bag with the money and unpacked his tuxedo for the auction.
She watched him move around the room. Those muscles should not be gracing the torso of a dorky anthropology professor, but she appreciated them all the same.
“Henry, what is that tattoo on your shoulder?” A two-inch high sword with two wavy lines behind it decorated his right shoulder. She didn’t recognize the symbols.
“From my days in the service.”
“The mess hall or the medic division?”
“Special Boat Service.” He continued unpacking and never looked toward her.
Her lack of knowledge about British military operations irked her. She hated not having information at her fingertips. “Boat maintenance?”
“Something like that.” He smirked, and Lord help her, she wanted to bite that smirk right off those amazing lips.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you? Give me access to your computer, just for a minute.”
Holding his shaving kit in his hand, he stopped unpacking and stared at her. “Sorry, Baby. I’ll let you use my laptop and tell you more about me when you spill a little more about yourself.” He lifted her wrist up. “What’s your coat of arms? An acorn?”
“No.” She pulled her wrist out of his hand. “From my recollection, the Chilton coat of arms has a single red chevron across it. No dragons or crossed swords for you?”
“Nice deflection. Are you a student of heraldry?”
“I’ve memorized a lot of family crests. It comes in handy when evaluating paintings, but I learned yours because it sits over the fireplace in the great hall at the castle.”
Henry placed his shaving kit in the bathroom. When he returned, he took hold of her wrist and kissed her tattoo. “And the acorn?”
She laughed. “An acorn is a baby oak. It’s not my family’s coat of arms, but should be. Instead, the family crest is green and white and isn’t much more interesting than yours.”
He kissed his way up her arm, stopping at her neck. “Does yours include a dragon?” he asked before returning to his seduction.
“No.” She tried not to moan, but he was nipping at the edge of her ear, and she could hardly speak.
“A skull and crossbones?” He blew his warm breath over the damp body parts as he finished nibbling them.
A shiver ran down her back. She curved her body into his arms. “Fun, but no.”
Henry yanked his shirt over her head. He tossed it onto the chair again.
“I’ll wait for you to disclose your secrets at your pace, but I’m growing impatient.” He stepped back, leaving her feeling very naked with only her thong covering a minimal amount of skin.
“Can I give you anything besides background information?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and those damn biceps flexed. “No. I have a Mustang convertible, a castle, and a gun. What more could a man want?”
“Come here and I’ll show you.” Alex dragged Henry by his belt loop toward the bed.
She undressed him, stopping with his zipper down and his jeans hanging off his hips.
“Are you going to finish?” he asked, choking out the words.
“I hope so, but you look so hot in those jeans. I’m hesitant to take them off.”
Henry chuckled and stripped Alex of her one remaining clothing item, and then he sat on the bed waiting for her next move. She loved how he gave her control when she needed it. She felt stronger and less vulnerable with him than with anyone else.
When she finished removing his clothes, his erection demanded attention. She hesitated, and then knelt in front of him. From the heated look in his eyes, her gift was unexpected, but appreciated. She licked him from base to tip and then took his entire length in her mouth.
“You don’t have to do this,” he moaned.
Releasing him from her throat, she peered up at him. A slight smile curved her mouth. “Should I stop?”
His breathing was getting ragged. “I don’t want you to, but if you’re not comfortable—”
“I want to.” After giving him a smile that told him not to argue, she returned to her exquisite form of torture.
Her hands slid up his legs, and she caressed him with feather-soft touches. Sex was amazing with the right person—empowering, comforting, exhilarating. And dominance could shift from one partner to the other at any time. His long aristocratic fingers wove through her hair and held her close. Not controlling, but comforting, encouraging. And she drew him in further and massaged him with her lips and her tongue from the base to the tip and back again. His low moan encouraged her to go deeper. He dropped his hands to her breasts, stroking her, motivating her, and leading her further into her own arousal and sexual satisfaction.
He pulled her up onto his lap and kissed her until she melted into a state of helpless surrender.
“I need you, Sunshine.” His voice strained between heavy breaths and long kisses.
“I need you, too.” And she did. She needed the strength, and his acceptance of her flaws and imperfections, and she needed him physically in her and near her and by her side.
They tumbled back onto the bed, and she rolled onto her back. He pushed off her and returned with a condom. He hesitated before sitting next to her and brushed his fingers through her hair.