Beckman: Lord of Sins

Our females. “You mentioned this. Any idea over what?”

“You should winkle it out of Sara.” North’s mouth flattened into a saturnine grimness. “I gather it has to do with her late husband’s brother, but that’s not the whole of it. Sara is considering taking another post.”

“North…” Beck pushed away from the stall door. “Can we walk a bit?”

North looked uneasy at this request, no doubt because he knew Beck was done with privacy and discretion. It was time for some answers, before North’s reticence got somebody hurt.

The barn door opened, letting in a shaft of late-afternoon sunshine.

“Beckman?”

Sara stood there in a simple sky-blue dress, her hair catching every ray of sun, her smile tentative but genuine. Peeking from beneath her dusty hem were the toes of the boots Beck had made for her.

“Mrs. Hunt.” Beck offered her a bow, knowing that despite all good intentions to the contrary, interrogating North would have to wait for another day.

* * *

Sara fell into bed exhausted and relieved. Beck had been friendly over dinner, clearly glad to see her—who wouldn’t be glad to put a parent’s funeral behind him?—and willing to take his cue from her.

Though she’d had no cue to give him. She’d missed him to the marrow of her bones while he’d been gone, and yet now that he was here, he became so much blond, handsome temptation.

She was tempted, of course, to steal into his bed, and that temptation was hard to resist. She was more tempted, though, to tell him Tremaine St. Michael was asking to come skulking around, threatening to unmask secrets the Hunt womenfolk had long ago agreed never to divulge.

And yet, Sara was not about to become further entangled with a good man, and Beck was a good man, without revealing her past—all of her past—thus costing her Beck’s regard.

Her mind whirled with the burden of her tangled loyalties and longings, but weariness dragged her under in short order.

The next thing she knew, she was being lifted from her bed.

“Who…?” Her mind tried to grasp what her senses already knew: the clean scent of bergamot, the feel of a big, muscular body, the care in the way she was touched, all told her who it was cradling her against his chest.

“Hush.” One word in a rumbled whisper, then the fleeting sensation of lips pressed to her forehead. She subsided as Beckman padded with her from her apartment, then out into the kitchen and on to the front stairs. Sara soon found herself deposited on Beck’s bed, her nightgown summarily drawn up over her head.

Beck tossed off his dressing gown. “Now you may berate me, just as soon as you welcome me home in truth.” He crouched naked over her and commenced kissing her before Sara could formulate a response.

Ah, God… Missing him was too tame an expression for the need clawing at her. They needed to talk, they needed to gain perspective on their situation, to reach an understanding as to its temporary and inconsequential—

His tongue teased at her lips, delicately, gently, and Sara couldn’t hold her miserable, prudent, painful thoughts in her head. She kissed him back, letting every scintilla of her passion for him show in her response.

“Better,” Beck growled, smiling against her lips. He abandoned the pretense of gentility and ravished her mouth, then shifted to his side and set his hand to plundering across her breasts and torso even as he continued to kiss, nuzzle, and bite.

“Beckman…” Sara tugged at his hair and got no response, so she tugged harder, until he did pause, frowning at her in the moonlight.

“You’re fertile now,” he said. “I know. But I’ve missed you.” He regarded her more closely. “I wasn’t going to do this, you know. I was going to let you decide whether to come to me, but I fear your stubbornness is the equal of my own. I haven’t seen you, haven’t kissed you, haven’t held you for almost two weeks.”

He’d kept track of her cycle, better track than Sara had herself. “I’ve missed you too,” Sara said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “How was the funeral?”

“Must we?” He rolled to his back but brought her with him by virtue of the arm he’d slipped around her shoulders.

Yes, they must. They must also talk, for his sake at least. “That bad?”

“No, not really that bad. In some ways it was good, because we were all nine of us, even Ethan, together. Nick has married a very sweet woman who will, I think, end up being his salvation.”

“You’re happy for your half-crazy brother?”

“Cautiously.” Beck trailed his fingers over Sara’s face, making her recall that she’d missed the exact feel of a callused hand on her cheek and jaw. “He’s damned stubborn, but there’s been much ground recovered between him and Ethan, and between me and Ethan, for that matter.”

“You sympathize with your brothers,” Sara said. “They’ve both been prodigal in some way, and so have you.”

“Touche.” He traced her lips with a single finger. “May I please swive you silly now?”

Please, God, yes. “You may not.” Sara rustled around under the covers to straddle him and cuddle down onto his chest. “Nor will I ravish you just yet.”

“My disappointment defies description,” Beck murmured, stroking a hand over her back. “No one else has asked about the funeral, though North inquired generally after my family.”

“North has been preoccupied of late.”

“How much of his past do you know, Sara?”

The question was reluctant, an intrusion of practical concerns and a possible test of Sara’s loyalty.

“He carries an impressive title,” Sara said, “but has for some reason stepped away from it. I don’t know why, but I trust him, Beck. He was the first man about whom I could say that in many years. Polly and Allie trust him too.”

“As do I, though I have to wonder if he’s cut off from all family.”

As Beckman had often been? “Such a fate strikes me as unbearably bleak.”

“Bleak.” Beck angled his chin, so she could get his earlobe in her mouth. “So he stays busy and tries not to think about family. When did you acquire this little trick?”

She was alternately biting and suckling on his earlobe, inflicting on him attentions he’d inflicted on her.

“I’ve been storing up things I’d like to try with you if you came back.” Sara eased off and curled up on him.

“If I came back?” Beck’s frown was audible.

“I don’t have plans for you beyond this night, Beckman.”

A long silence ensued, during which Sara tried to make herself leave his bed. She’d notified two hiring agencies of her availability for a post in the West Riding. Not even Tremaine would think to look for her there.

“What are your plans for me, then, for this night?” Beck leaned up and kissed her temple, as if he’d kiss her thoughts.

“To have my wicked way with you, except, given I might conceive, I’m not quite sure how to go about it.”

“I have a few suggestions,” Beck murmured, his hand moving around to the front of her and finding her naked breast. Within minutes, Sara was gliding her wet sex over the hard, hot length of him, while Beck plied her breasts with mouth and hands.

“This is…” She was panting, aroused, frustrated, and determined all at once.

“Hmmm?” He took a nipple in his mouth, as if he could play with her for hours.

“Beck…” She slid a hand behind his head. “I want… I want you inside me.”

“No, you don’t.” Beck shifted his hips against the mattress when she would have tried to slip herself over him. “You want to come, and you’re having to do more of the work yourself this way. Allow me to remedy the situation.” He pulled her down to kiss him, kept one hand on her breast, and slipped the other between their bodies.

“Yes…” Sara felt his thumb on the seat of her pleasure and slowed the undulation of her hips to find a rhythm with him. In moments, she was rocketing up, climbing toward satisfaction.

“You too,” she whispered, teasing her fingers over his nipple, feeling him arch into her hand. She cast off first, hanging over him, keening as she moved on his cock and his fingers, her hair falling forward as passion