The Joker; His foreign she-wolf

Was it a dream?

*Johnny*

I feel the she-wolf go limp in my arms just a heartbeat before her mouth releases its hold on mine. Easing back, I look down on her. She seems thoroughly content.

She is also bloody well asleep!

Damnation! I have never had a she-wolf react in that manner when I have been kissing her. If anything, they have always become more animated. Had I bored her? She certainly hadn't responded as if uninterested. She had clutched, grabbed, and held me as though she was being tossed about by a tempest at sea, and I was the raft that would safely deliver her to shore.

And dear Goddess, the sounds she had made. The whimpers, the sighs, the moans. They had made every aspect of me tighten with need and want. They had urged me to push myself into her and take her completely and thoroughly, and it had taken every ounce of self-control I possessed not to follow that path.

Then it all came to an unsatisfying conclusion as though it meant nothing at all.

My masculine pride wants to dump her right there and then. But my mother, blast her, has raised me to be a gentleman of the first water, and so I lower the she-wolf gently to the fainting couch as I might set down the finest of delicate porcelain.

Fainting couch? Perhaps she isn't asleep but has fainted. Maybe my ministrations had overwhelmed her. Have taken her by storm. Perhaps I had been too vigorous in my attentions, leaving the novice overcome with sensations. Lightly, I nudge her shoulder. “Miss? Madam?”

A little mewling escapes from those slightly parted lips that I want to take possession of once again. She shifts onto her side, tucks a hand beneath her pink-tinged cheek, mumbles something about a fairy, and then emits an endearing snuffling snore. Asleep then. Bloody hell. What am I supposed to do with her now?

Leave her to it, I suppose. Yet, I can't quite force myself to my feet. Instead, I lower my backside to the floor and study her. Her face sports a maze of faded freckles.

Does she not wear a bonnet when she goes outside? Her exquisite dark pink gown indicates she can certainly afford a hat. As do the pearl combs adorning her red-tinted hair, and the diamonds at her ears and throat. Anyone who frequents this club has money to spare. She is no exception.

She was also quite damned dictatorial. I had rather liked it. No names indeed. I do regret I hadn't insisted on that at least, not that I would have provided my true name. A corner of my mouth quirks up. I doubt she would have either.

She had been intent on keeping matters between us as impersonal as possible. I wonder if I have demonstrated the futility of that endeavor. Skin touching skin always creates a bond. Whether it's a pleasant thing to be remembered is something else entirely. I'm not quite certain I will ever forget the time spent with her. The she-wolf of sighs. That's how I will remember her.

I consider striving to awaken her, but decide it's simply best to leave. She is safe here. All she-wolves within Aaron's domain are. My brother's desire to protect she-wolves in the manner in which he had protected our mother is one of the reasons I admire him, and we get along so well.

After shoving myself to my feet, I bend over and press a kiss to her forehead and then, for good measure, brush my lips over hers. “Farewell, lovely one. I hope it was all you imagined.”

I grab a velveteen blanket that's folded on a nearby chair and drape it over her. Then I walk to the door, turn back, take one last look, and leave.

*Scarlett*

I stir to someone whispering softly in my ear. "Miss? Miss?"

Slowly, carefully, my head feeling as though workers are building a factory within it, I ease my way out of the rapidly distancing lethargic haven, grimacing as the pounding hammers batter my skull more forcefully, and open my eyes.

A young maid gives me a blindingly bright smile before straightening. "It's morning, miss."

"Morning?" Squinting, I gingerly glance around, taking care not to move my head too quickly. "This isn't my hotel room."

And this young she-wolf isn't my maid, the one who helps me dress, the one I had sworn to secrecy when I had slipped out of the hotel last night after my mother had gone to bed. I had been bored and had decided to go in search of adventure.

"No, miss. You're in the kissing chamber at the Moon Goddess Club."

Ah, yes, that club where she-wolves's fantasies are supposed to be adhered to. I had gambled a bit, enjoyed a few drinks... and then apparently come here for a nap. In spite of the discomfort rampaging through my head and my roiling stomach, I moan and stretch, unable to recall the last time I'd slept so deeply. "I had such a lovely dream. Must have been the absinthe."

"It has been known to release inhibitions. Some say it even causes hallucinations." The maid says.

It certainly had done that. "The most handsome man appeared. He didn't talk much but still, he was quite charming. And he… wait. What?" I sit up ramrod straight, slam the heels of my hands against my protesting head, and groan low. "The kissing chamber?"

"Yes, miss. It's where she-wolves are sent if they want only a kiss." She says.

"The man was real." I mumble.

The maid laughs lightly. "I should think so, miss."

Dear Goddess, what have I done? I touch my lips, surprised to find they aren't swollen from all the attention he had given them. However, when I run my tongue over them, I can still taste him. Dark and dangerous. And oh, so very alluring. "Where is he?"

"Probably gone home. We're doing the tidying up now. Didn't really expect to find anyone in here." She says.

I blink, "Who was he?"

"Don't know, miss. Don't know who they sent to you. Maybe Michael? He is ever so good at delivering what the she-wolves want. Or so I have heard."

"What shade is his hair?" I ask.

She smiles, "Brown."

"No, it wasn't him. This man's hair was a sandy." I have a gossamer memory of running my fingers through the silky-soft strands. Had I been that bold?

"Julian, mayhap? Or another? Any of 'em really. They all do the kissing." She shrugs.

Pressing the tips of my fingers to my forehead, I stroke and rub, trying to ease the ache that's throbbing unmercifully if left alone. "What else do they do?"

"Anything a she-wolf wants." She says.

I peer through my splayed fingers. "But only if she asks."

"Oh, yes, miss. You're done up all nice and tight. I suspect he only kissed you." She tells me.

"Yes, yes of course." Slightly disappointed, I cast aside the blanket, briefly wondering where it had come from. I have no memory of it. Or the man leaving. Or the kiss stopping. It had seemed to go on into eternity, into my dreams.

I will have to commend Mr. Tempest on the men he hires. The one he had sent to me had made me feel wanted, beloved. Unfortunately, he has left me yearning for more. Even if it had all been an act, he had been damned good at performing.

Suddenly the kiss loses its shine because it hadn't been born of desire but bought by what I had paid to gain entry. A fee. Like purchasing a thoroughbred horse. On one hand, my coins had certainly not gone to waste. He had earned every one of them. On the other hand, I had been a task completed so those coins would land on his palm. He had merely gone through the motions, but oh, what lovely motions they had been.