Offering his services

2699 Words
*Frannie* The encounter with Greywind has leaft me unsettled. Feagan’s lads… although they are men, I will always think of them as his lads… know better than to hound me with questions, but I need some time alone to regain my composure. Normally, I would take a walk in the garden, but the heavy rain makes that an unpleasant proposition. So Claybourne’s massive residence has to suffice. Because the servants know me, they aren’t likely to object to my walking through the hallways and rooms where guests are not invited. Since I’ve moved out of the grand house, I’ve visited on occasion. While I’m not entirely comfortable here, one room holds fond memories. Without hesitating, I open the door to the immense library and walk inside. Closing my eyes briefly, I inhale deeply the wondrous fragrance of books. Ledgers never carry quite the same scent. After shutting the door to ensure my privacy, I wend my way among the various chairs and small tables that comprise individual sitting areas and walk along the shelf-lined wall, running my fingers across the spines of the many volumes that the old Alpha had collected over the years. He had been a voracious reader. He had introduced me to the works of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, among others. Within this room, I had traveled the world. That thought brings Greywind to mind. Through Evangeline, I know he has explored the world and the many wonders it has to offer. I can’t imagine the boldness of character that particular endeavor requires: to step upon a ship and float out onto the wide expanse of ocean and trust that it will carry him to his destination. What has he done that has caused him to be a bit less civilized? And why, even now, can’t I stop thinking about him? His callousness should have effectively ended any interest I might have had in him. Instead, I find myself wondering what it is that he fears, because he most certainly is afraid of something. When he realizes I had taken his watch, fear hovered for a heartbeat within the depths of his eyes before they glinted dangerously. In my world, I’ve known too many frightened souls, myself included. I could understand him reacting with anger, but why does it bother him to realize that he hasn’t seen me taking his watch? Or am I misreading the entire situation? It isn’t as though he’s a book. With a mental shake, I chastise myself for lifting his pocket watch. I’ve risen above my origins. It irritates me that he’s brought me back down to them. Why did I feel the need to prove myself a very skilled thief? Why do I even care about his opinion of my friends or me? Rude and arrogant, he represents everything about the high packs that I despise. Even Luc’s grandfather, for all the good works he’s done for us, has looked down his nose at the urchins his grandson calls friends. Still, on occasion, I can’t help but think of him fondly. I cross over to the desk and sit down. Running my hand over the fine, polished wood grain, I remember how imposing Luc’s grandfather appeared sitting there. Until the day I discovered his weakness for lemon drops. Then he became human in my eyes, especially as on occasion he shared one with me. I open the drawer where he kept his sweets. “Planning to pilfer something?” With a small shriek, I press my hand to my chest, my heart thudding against my ribs as I spin around in the chair to face my accuser. Arms crossed over his chest, Greywind leans against the wall in the darkened corner, effectively avoiding what little daylight makes its way through the window and into the room. Thunder booms, and the rain seems to increase in intensity. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed him before, because he fills the corner with his presence. “You startled me, My Alpha.” I have always thought that Luc and Jack possess a commanding presence, but theirs pales when compared with that of the Alpha of Greywind. He is not a man accustomed to being denied, and the attraction I felt bubbling up within me while in the drawing room begins to make its presence known once again. I refuse to give into it. I won’t allow him to mock my tender regard or my friends. Still, I’m not childish enough to flounce out. I swallow hard, determined to hold my own against him. “He used to keep sweets hidden here,” I say inanely in response to the thickening silence. Greywind merely stares at me. “The previous Alpha,” I go on to explain. “Luc’s grandfather.” Still, he holds his tongue. I close the drawer and rise from the chair, refusing to be cowed by him. With my heart thundering almost as loudly as the storm, I stroll over to the window and gaze out at the gray rain. “I used to live here. The old Alpha would sit in that chair right there…” I point to a hunter-green upholstered chair near the window, “…and have me read to him each afternoon. It’s strange. In my youth, I lived with a pupsman who I’m quite certain at some point in his life killed someone, yet I never feared him. But the old Alpha terrified me.” “Why?” Ah, a word at last. I face him, surprised to discover that we are standing much nearer to each other than I’d realized, and I suspect his inquiry is little more than a ruse to stop me from leaving. Why does the thought of him wishing me to stay thrill me? “Because he was so… large.” I shake my head, frustrated by my inability to adequately describe Luc’s grandfather. I am much more skilled with the use of numbers than words. “Not physically, of course. He was tall, like Luc… but with more bone than flesh and a bit bent in his old age… but he had such a fierce presence. Everything about him was incredibly grand. The homes in which he lived… here and in the country. The coach in which he traveled. Sometimes he would take me about Blackrock city with him when he needed to visit with someone, and the deference that he was given assured me that he was a very powerful man indeed. Much like you, My Alpha.” “And powerful men frighten you?” “They give me pause, but I am no longer a child to be intimidated by them. I daresay with age comes the inclination not to care much what others think.” A corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and I suddenly have an insane urge to make him smile fully, even as I fear that he’s heard the lie in my words. I can’t deny that the high packs’ low opinion of me… and my friends… hurts. Each of us, in our own way, does a good deal for others less fortunate, and all of us are fiercely loyal. We would die for each other. That others overlook the goodness in us and always expect the worst rubs raw after a while. “You say that as though you’re ancient,” he tells me. “I’m quickly approaching the age of thirty.” I don’t know why I feel obligated to reveal my age. Possibly to ensure he’s aware that he isn’t dealing with an innocent young miss, but rather a she-wolf who knows her own mind… or at least I did until I approached him. At that precise moment, I’m not sure whether I want him to stay and entice me nearer or leave before the situation escalates beyond my control. Because with him, I’m not certain I have complete control. I want to muss his hair, unveil the uncivilized aspect he referred to earlier. “Quite old not to be married, not to have children tugging at your skirts,” he says. “Oh, I have children.” I see the condemnation flash in his deep blue eyes. It irritates me that he thinks the worst. I almost don’t explain myself, but I feel compelled. On the one hand, I want him to think the very worst of me, and on the other, I want him to think me worthy of…something I can’t explain. “I take in orphans. Or I will once my children’s home is completed.” He nods slowly, “Ah, a reformer.” “You disapprove. Do you not believe in good works, My Alpha?” “They have their place. But working with orphans seems a waste for a she-wolf as lovely as you.” I feel the heat rush from the soles of my feet to my cheeks at his compliment. I’ve always considered myself a bit plain, or maybe it’s simply that I want to be plain. I don’t wish to garner men’s favor, so I work very hard not to make myself appealing. Even the dress I wear today for so lovely an occasion as a wedding is designed not to draw a man’s eye, and yet somehow it has managed to draw his. “I’m not certain if I’ve been insulted or complimented.” “Complimented, I assure you. I fear we got off to a rather unfortunate beginning with our introductions… or lack thereof. I’ve retired to this room seeking some solace so that I might determine how best to make amends. I’m not typically so… unfriendly.” He gazes out the window. “The gent you were speaking with earlier, in the brown jacket… who is he?” I’m surprised by the abrupt change in topic and the inquiry. “Jamie Swindler. An inspector with the Alpha agency.” For the briefest of moments, I could swear that his mouth twitches as though he’s fighting back a smile. “I wasn’t inquiring as to his occupation, but rather what he is to you.” Oh. I find that a rather odd statement. What could he be other than what he is? “A friend. Did you wish an introduction?” A bit of strangled laughter erupts from him, before he presses his mouth into a straight line and shakes his head. “No, that’s quite all right. He seemed protective of you.” “They all are.” He titles his head slightly, “They?” “Feagan’s lads.” “And Feagan is…” “The pupsman who took us all in.” He nods, “The one who taught you how to pilfer pockets?” “Among other things.” “You were a very deft student, Miss Tempest. I didn’t even feel your touch. The problem there is that I would very much like to know your touch.” Very slowly, his gaze comes back to me. It holds an invitation, as well as a promise. How am I to respond to that? To admit that I, too, am wondering what his touch might feel like? From the moment I lost my innocence at the age of twelve, I’ve had no s****l interest in men. They don’t frighten me; I’ve learned enough from Feagan’s lads to know that not all men are brutes. But still, I’ve never been attracted to a man, have never wanted to attract one. I’ve never felt this strange fluttering in my stomach whenever I look at a man, have never had my heart pounding so rapidly when he is near, have never found it so difficult to draw in breath when I gaze into his eyes or study the intriguing shape of his mouth. “No retort? No denial that you’re not curious about my touch?” he asks. “I have no skills at these flirtatious games men and she-wolves play.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to reveal that little tidbit about myself. I’ve always held my own with the boys when it comes to stealing or arranging a ruse, taking measures to fleece someone. They often seek out my opinion on their business dealings. But it’s all so very distant from what is happening here. I feel like a novice explorer, traveling uncharted ground. “It’s not a game, Miss Tempest,” Greywind says in a low voice that reverberates through me and settles somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. “And by touch, I suppose you mean…” He smiles slowly, predatory, “Simply a touch.” I, who am always so aware of my surroundings, of the people around me, judging when best to take, when to leave, have somehow missed that he’s leaned nearer to me, his blue eyes smoldering with desire. With the gentlest of touches, he skims his fingers along the curve of my face, from my temple, down my cheek, across my chin. “So soft,” he whispers as his thumb strokes my lower lip, his gaze following his movements as though he’s never seen anything quite so fascinating, as though I’m some rare creature. “The gentlemen standing near you in the drawing room… is any of them your lover?” “No!” I'm insulted by the insinuation and would have moved back if the slow stroking of his thumb just below my mouth wasn’t holding me captive as effectively as iron. “Have you a lover?” “I’m not certain why it’s any of your concern…” “Have you?” he repeats with an insistence that indicates he won’t let his inquiry go unanswered. “No.” “Good.” He never takes his eyes from me. They never cease to smolder. If anything, the fire within them intensifies and burns through me. I’m beginning to feel as though I might melt. I have a ridiculous need to undo some buttons, to let him blow his cool breath over my skin. “Why is that good?” I ask, barely recognizing my own voice. It’s far too sultry. “Because I would very much like to kiss you, Miss Tempest, and unlike you, I’m not in the habit of taking what rightfully belongs to someone else.” His fingers are again on my cheek, his palm cupping my chin. He moves slowly toward me as though giving me time to retreat or an opportunity to object. I do neither. Instead, I find myself leaning toward him, my eyes drifting closed. Then his mouth is upon mine. I’ve been forcibly kissed and chastely kissed, but never has a man so gently and so determinedly urged my lips to part in order that he might gain entry. Never have I wanted to so willingly comply. He tastes of champagne, rich and flavorful. He tastes of desire. One of his arms comes around me and draws me up against him. As a grown she-wolf, I’ve never been this close to a man. I’ve never had my breasts flattened against a man’s solid chest. I’ve never inhaled a masculine scent so deeply that it becomes part of me. I’ve never had a man’s talented tongue playing with mine, and I’ve certainly never slipped mine into a man’s mouth wanting to taste him fully. Everything I’ve never envisioned experiencing, I suddenly want with a desperation that should be frightening. But he doesn’t frighten me. He entices me into winding my arms around his neck and rising up on my toes for easier access to that which I so desperately desire. With a low groan, he shifts the angle of the kiss and delves more deeply, more thoroughly, exploring every aspect of my mouth. The heat intensifies, and my body takes on a languid quality as though I could melt into him. Is this passion, this all-encompassing sensation that the two of us could very easily become one? He draws back slightly, and I gaze into the deep blue of his eyes. “As you don’t have a lover, Miss Tempest, I’d like to offer my services. As I believe we’ve just proven, we’re quite compatible.”
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