The Return of the Prodigal. Кейси Майклс

through her. She began to move without thinking, her center aching with need as she pushed herself against his swollen manhood. Wishing him inside her. Needing. Needing…

      And then her eyes opened wide, because Rian was touching her now, his long fingers parting her, finding her, igniting her. She spread her legs even wider, biting her bottom lip, as her movement had somehow exposed more to him than she knew existed, a secret place buried deep, but now a found treasure, one that Rian exploited relentlessly, giving her no time to think, even to breathe.

      Only time to feel, to enjoy the dream.

      “Don’t stop, Lisette,” he told her, his voice seeming to come to her from far away. “Touch yourself. Feel yourself as you blossom, as you flower. My pretty Lisette. My pretty flower. Yes, yes. I can feel your need. Don’t deny it, don’t deny me the pleasure as I watch you.”

      “I…I can’t…I…”

      “Then now, Lisette. Make it happen now.”

      His fingers moved faster, and Lisette went very still. She lifted herself toward him, able to deny him nothing.

      “Now, Lisette,” Rian whispered, his voice almost raw. “Go over. Go over…”

      She cried out as the throbbing began, inside of her, outside of her. Clench and release. Clench and release. Again, and again, and again…

      “Rian!” she shouted when she could take no more, collapsing onto him, sobbing into the crook of his neck. “Rian…”

      He rolled her onto her back even as he guided himself to her, into her, and then held on to her with his good arm, melding their bodies together.

      “Move, Lisette. Move with me…this time, take me with you.”

      She felt his other arm come around her, something he had not allowed before tonight, felt the strength in his upper arm as he held her so tightly it became difficult to breathe.

      In his mind, did he feel her flesh beneath his lost hand?

      If there was a God, yes…

      RIAN LAY ON HIS BACK, staring up at the canopy above his head, consciously trying to regulate his breathing.

      She had been wild in his arms, and now she was quiet, collapsed against his side, her blond hair splayed out, a sweet-smelling lock tickling at his chin.

      What would he do without her? It was only when she came to him, made love with him, that he could even pretend to be whole. Awake, aware.

      If only they could stay here, like this, forever. He longed to be a simple man, with simple needs.

      All his life had been a struggle. Well-cushioned, yes, but as with all of the Beckets, circumscribed by the past, a life spent always with one eye looking for the reappearance of that past. Always knowing theirs was an uncertain future.

      He’d wanted excitement, adventure. He’d wanted to be away from the constraints of Becket Hall, from the people who all carried the shadow of the past with them.

      Secrets to keep. Always, secrets to keep.

      Had Fanny run home to those secrets they both hated? Had she taken the Earl of Brede with her after the battle? Had she seen what he, Rian, had seen growing between them—that the love Fanny believed she’d felt for her adoptive brother had been a pale thing when compared to the love of a man for a woman? Brede loved Fanny, that had been obvious, and Rian had been glad, hopeful that the earl would take her away from Becket Hall, keep her safe.

      He wished Fanny well. He wished her happiness, and a quiet conscience.

      If he returned to Becket Hall? What would she feel then? A responsibility to him?

      Of course she would. She was Fanny, his sister of the heart, his twin of the heart, as they’d sometimes joked. She would feel responsible for him, insist on clinging to him, mothering him, protecting him…as if he were a child needing protection.

      He couldn’t let that happen. Life moved on. Didn’t his adoptive father always say that? Whether we wished it or not, life always moved on. Rian needed Fanny to move on with her life, find her own happiness, and not feel obligated to her maimed brother.

      And now there was Lisette.

      Lisette, always eager to help, eager to please, yet never maudlin in her sympathy for him. Lisette, the only real thing in his comfortable world of fantasy. Lisette, who wished to leave this place, this mindless, beautiful Limbo. He couldn’t remember all that she’d said, but he remembered the fear, very real in her beautiful blue eyes. She wanted to be gone, she wanted him gone.

      “Lisette?”

      “Hmm? Don’t bother me, Rian Becket. I am floating here, and I rather like the sensation.”

      Rian smiled. “A pity, for it’s time to come back to earth. This afternoon? You said something about the man who owns this grand house. My benefactor. Your benefactor as well. You’re really afraid of him?”

      She pushed herself up onto one elbow. “I’m not afraid, Rian Becket. Your lost hand does not make you a cripple. But fear makes us all cripples. I won’t allow myself to fear anything or anyone.”

      “Yes, well, thank you. That was quite profound, and you may consider me thoroughly chastened and ashamed. Now tell me again about this man, now that my mind feels clearer.” He kissed her cheek. “You do that to a person, you know. Wake me, feed my fantasies. But now to be serious. What is his name?”

      “He is known as the Comte Beltrane. Neuveille Beltrane. He offered to make me his ward when my parents were killed, but I insisted upon limiting his largesse to becoming my employer. He—”

      “Yes, unbelievable as it may seem, I remember all of that. But now you’re grown, and he’s looking at you in ways that displease you?”

      Lisette pulled a face. “He looks at me like this…” she said, narrowing her eyes and then opening her mouth in a small smile, licking her upper lip. “Like a dog, eager for a fat loin chop to fall off the spit at his feet.”

      Rian threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, surely he doesn’t look all that obvious, Lisette. Does he drool, as well?”

      She shrugged, again that wordless but so meaningful Gallic shrug. “I find excuses to go back to my work. I don’t tarry long enough to see if he drools. And I won’t see him at all when he returns in a few days, because I won’t be here.” She snuggled back against him. “Will you miss me terribly, Rian Becket? They will send Voleta to tend you in my place. She is fat, and smells always of garlic. And she has this huge mole on her chin. With hair in it. Will you like that?”

      He ignored her question for one of his own. “Where will you go, Lisette? Do you have any family left, either here or in England?”

      Again a shrug. “My maman’s family disowned her for marrying a Englisher. To them I am English. I know nothing about my father’s family, but I will go to England, because France is no longer my home. Perhaps I will go to London and work in a fine shop, selling bonnets, yes? It will be better than here.”

      Rian was quiet for some minutes, and feared that Lisette had fallen asleep before he asked her, “Would you be willing to help me get back to England?”

      She remained still for the space of three of Rian’s heartbeats, and then sat up straight, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. “All Heaven and the saints be praised—the man does listen from time to time. You will leave? Break free of this hidey-hole you seem so willing to remain in forever?”

      “I’m curious about your Comte, but yes, I think I’ve more than overstayed my welcome, whatever the reason behind that welcome. My father will forward our thanks, as well as remuneration for the man’s care of me. Your care of me, Lisette.”

      “But you know that you still need me, Rian Becket,” she said with determination in her voice, tilting up her chin. “I will button your coat if it is cold, cut