Gorgeous As Sin

in the event someone was watching, but you must go. Immediately.”

The panic in his voice was disturbing. “Watching? ” she whispered back.

“I believe I’m under surveillance.” He glanced outside with a furtive look. “Someone learned of my publishing activities. The authorities may swoop down on me at any moment. You must go and don’t under any circumstances come back until you hear from me. Now go!”

No further explanation was required. She knew full well that the obscenity laws viewed Mr. Edding’s publishing ventures as criminal.

“Here,” he hissed, shoving a packet of stationery at her. “Pretend to take money out of your purse, so it looks as though you came in to purchase some stationery.”

She could feel herself beginning to sweat and understood why Edward had never told her of his writing. He was protecting her. Miming a money transaction, she took the package from Mr. Edding and whispered, “I hope you’re wrong about this.”

She was careful not to look about as she exited the shop, not wishing to appear suspicious. But she found herself glancing in shop windows as she moved through the city, trying to see if someone was trailing her. If she was being followed, however, her pursuers were discreet. She could detect no one giving chase. And by the time she reached Dr. Swindell’s, she’d had time to calm the worst of her fears.

Surely no one could implicate her in Mr. Edding’s activities. Her name was never on anything she wrote, she was paid in cash, she only rarely entered his shop. Furthermore, if Edward had escaped the law for the length of time required to write fourteen books, surely she was safe, having written only a few serials.

She was surprised to find the doctor’s townhouse was not only posh, but in a fashionable neighborhood. But then nothing but the best for Fitz and his minions, she reminded herself. However, she was genuinely shocked at the degree of elegance she saw after being ushered inside by a courteous servant. The entrance hall was decorated with artifacts from Pompeii, including replicas of furniture and Roman wall paintings. The carpet was silk and obviously from Persia if her expertise garnered from books was credible. She had no firsthand knowledge since her family could never afford anything so fine.

The servant who welcomed her escorted her down the hall to the back of the house, waved her into a small examining room, and quietly shut the door behind her.

Two large windows overlooked a manicured garden teeming with late summer roses. A riot of color struck the eye, blossoms tumbling over the garden walls, climbing up trellises, flourishing in neat beds bordered by boxwood hedges. She thought of her own pitiful garden behind her store, where sunlight was limited to a few hours a day and her efforts at growing roses had largely met with failure.

She softly sighed.

Oh, for a gardener of one’s own.

And the funds to buy hundreds of roses.

And the wherewithal to take down the buildings on either side of her garden that blocked the sun.

Her reflections gave way as the door opened.

“Good evening, my dear,” Dr. Swindell said as she entered the room. “Are you feeling any better? ”

“Yes, thank you. The salve was an excellent restorative.” In more ways than one, she thought, remembering how easily and painlessly Fitz’s erection had slid in and out. “You have a most lush garden,” she added.

“The roses are my restorative. Gardening is my means of relaxation, although I have help as well.” She waved to a screen in the corner. “If you like, you can change into a gown. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Rosalind was tempted to say, “I feel fine, don’t bother,” but understood it might be useful to see that all was well, Fitz’s avowals of good health notwithstanding. Still, this was a novel experience for her and she couldn’t say she was looking forward to being peered at and probed.

But once she was undressed and the doctor returned, the examination went relatively smoothly. Dr. Swindell put her at ease by chatting of impersonal matters during the exam and by so doing, diverting her attention from the procedure.

“There now,” Dr. Swindell said when she was finished, offering her hand to help Rosalind sit up. “Everything looks fine, barring a return of that small inflammation you mentioned. I would caution you to a modicum of prudence in terms of overindulgence-if you wish, of course,” she added as Rosalind blushed. “I’m not suggesting it’s necessary. You’d know best how you feel. But should you need it, I’ll send along some more salve.”

“Thank you, that would be useful.”

“If you have any questions of any kind, please, ask away. I’m not in the least judgmental.”

“Well… that is…” Rosalind hesitated, not in the habit of discussing such things. “Need I… worry about… some dangerous disease? ” she finally stammered.

“There’s always the risk,” the doctor replied, Rosalind’s reluctant query common in her practice. “I don’t like to promise my patients absolution from such possibilities. Naturally, it depends on one’s partner-on their fidelity.”

“I understand.” Her heart sank. As if fidelity was even in Fitz’s vocabulary.

“You could use a condom of course-as an added measure of safety. I could give you some if you like and save you the necessity of going to a chemist.”

She was politely saying, You wouldn’t have to expose your sexual activity to the world. “Thank you-a few would be useful,” Rosalind murmured.

“A wise choice, my dear. Forethought is excellent insurance against disease. While you dress, I’ll make up a small package for you.”

As Rosalind dressed, she contemplated how significantly her world had changed in a few short days. Here she was, dressing after a doctor’s examination she might never have contemplated before. Not only that, she was bringing home condoms and salve so she might engage in sexual activities with a man she barely knew.

If he even elected to return.

Not a material certainty, Fitz’s departure that morning polite but devoid of any promise of future assignations.

On her journey home, that uncertainty looped through her mind, dogging her despite her best efforts to consider more pleasant prospects. But she wanted to see Fitz again-whether it meant ultimate heartache or not. Whether it was sensible or not. Although, clearly she wasn’t when she coveted a man like Fitz; surely their encounters were akin to that poetic line about ships passing in the night.

She would be wise to keep in mind the fleeting nature of his liaisons. It would be insane to contemplate actually caring for a man of his ilk. She grimaced. Particularly after so few days. Good God, I am a fool.

By the time she’d traveled the considerable distance from the doctor’s and was nearing home, she’d beaten down most of her rash inclinations and was commending herself on her good sense. She’d reconciled herself to simply enjoying Fitz’s company if and when he appeared. Just that-enjoy-and nothing more. Carpe diem would be her motto.

If only he hadn’t been waiting for her, such well-founded pragmatism might have prevailed.

But he was.

Lounging in all his jeunesse dorйe glory against her bow window, tall and rangy in a suit of ecru linen, his dark hair shoved behind his ears as if he’d combed it with his fingers, his face so starkly beautiful her breath caught in her throat.

She screamed and began running toward him.

Propriety and prudence be damned.

She didn’t get far; he ran faster, and when they met, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her soundly, needing corporeal evidence that she was real and he was no longer bereft.

She finally whispered, “Mfphffp,” against his mouth because passersby were stopping to stare.

He raised his head politely but minimally and grinned. “Forgive me, I might be a little drunk.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, lighthearted, content, happier than she’d ever been in her life. “But we should get off the street.”

“I brought you something,” he said with a smile, kissing her again without regard for their audience. “You’ll like it.” He winked. “Guaranteed.”

“You think so? ” she asked playfully, hugging him as if he were her salvation from the shipwreck of life, not