Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired

She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.

‘But … They’re sharp!’

He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.

‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.

The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.

‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.

The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.

Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.

She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.

It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.

‘Sally?’

Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man—a man who was a virtual stranger—and feel nothing but awkwardness?

‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’

‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.

‘Jack—’ she said.

‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.

Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.

‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’

Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally was tumbled amongst them, her hair about her shoulders, her skin flushed with latent arousal. The expression in her eyes was bemused and heavy with satiation. She looked like a fallen angel.

She also looked very, very desirable. Jack felt his body stir and ruthlessly clamped down on the urge to make love to her again. So much for his misguided belief that once he had had her the fever would be gone from his blood. It burned all the hotter now, now that he had tasted how delicious she was, now that he wanted more.

Now that he knew she was his alone.

He felt a huge, primal surge of masculine satisfaction, something that he had never experienced before. It was disconcerting to discover that he could feel this way. It hinted at emotions he did not wish to explore.

‘So,’ he said, when she seemed disinclined to start the conversation, ‘you were a virgin.’

He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, fidgeting with the covers, looking both tempting and defiant. Something like indignation stirred in him. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are a widow, damn near a divorcée, you’re the owner of the most sophisticated club in London …’ He stopped. ‘How the hell,’ he finished slowly, ‘did that happen?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘It … didn’t happen.’

‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I appreciate that now.’

Sally looked down. She had wound the sheet about herself so that it wrapped her lovely, voluptuous body up in a column of white. He wanted to unwind it again, take her again.

‘Jonathan was unable to consummate our marriage,’ she said, after a moment.

‘Clearly.’

‘He … did not find me attractive.’ She looked defensive, blushing. ‘I thought that there was something wrong with me.’

‘So you thought to use me to prove that there was not?’ The words came out more harshly than Jack had intended. He saw her flinch and cursed himself.

‘I thought,’ she corrected him, ‘that it was extraordinary that you seemed to want me.’

It did not seem extraordinary to him. Resisting her was his only difficulty. Her husband had evidently been a fool. Unless …

‘Did he prefer the company of men?’ he asked.

Sally shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I think he preferred street women. He said that he had no difficulties with them, but that I was too …’ she hesitated, her tone flat ‘… too dull to interest him. He tried to make love to me, but it was no good. After we had tried—and failed—several times, he never came to my bed again. It was mortifying. I thought that it was my fault.’

Jack made an involuntary move towards her, then let his hand fall. He wanted to reassure her, to prove to her—again—that he found her incredibly attractive, but they needed to finish the conversation first.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. He caught her hand. The sheet slipped a little. She made a grab for it, but he held her still.

‘It must be apparent to you now,’ he said, ‘that you are an exceptionally attractive woman. Your husband’s lack of interest in you was in no way your fault.’

She bit her lip. ‘Thank you.’ She sounded as polite as though he had handed her a plate at a tea party. Jack wanted, suddenly and violently, to kiss her.

‘And there was never anyone else?’ he said.

She shook her head slowly.

‘So why me?’ Jack said. ‘Why now?’

She looked at him with those beautiful hazel eyes and hesitated.

‘Sally?’ he prompted.

‘Perhaps I should not say it,’ she said, ‘but it was because I wanted to.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe it is immodest in me to admit it …’

Jack gave her a look. ‘A little late for that now.’

She smiled a little. ‘Yes.’ She looked at him very directly. ‘I wanted to find out what it was like. And …’ suddenly she blushed very vividly ‘… I wanted to find out with you.’

‘You could have warned me,’ Jack said mildly. ‘It would have been nicer.’ He smiled. ‘Nicer for you.’