Wanton:

by Noelle Mack

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Kyril. Marko. Semyon. Brothers like no other, sharing an ancient blood bond and descent from Russian wolves. Sworn to lead the Pack of St. James and defend the English crown, their seductive charm is legendary among the women of London. But no one knows of the supernatural powers that raise them far above the ranks of mortal men. In WANTON, the second book of her compelling trilogy, Noelle Mack presents Marko's story. . . A Dangerous Pleasure In the year 1816, the Pack of St. James meets in secret in their London lair. An unknown assailant has begun to prey upon the women who consort with the men of the Pack--two have already died in mysterious ways and a poisoned communication threatens still more. With Kyril Taruskin and his love Vivienne away in the far north, attending to the clan's business in the Russian port of Archangel, his brother Marko begins to investigate--and finds the trail leads to a scandalous beauty known only as Severin. One of the victims was Severin's half-sister, but that alone is not enough to explain her intimate knowledge of the strange case. Well aware how a clever woman can hide more than she reveals, Marko employs all his powers of sensual persuasion, barely able to resist the allure of her amber eyes and softly seductive voice. He has never been outwitted by a woman. But Severin is different from all the rest--very different--and loving her is a dangerous game indeed. . . Praise for Noelle Mack and her novels. . . "A sexy romp on the wild side. A true page-turner." -- Romantic Times on Nights In Black Satin a Top Pick! 4 ½-star review "Hot sex. . .sizzling and innovative." -- Romantic Times on Juicy, a Top Pick! 4 ½-star review "A truly sensual story that will titillate and captivate." --Romantic Times, four-star review of Three

Release date: August 1, 2008

Publisher: Brava

Print pages: 273

Sample

London, 1816…

Marko was sure he’d fallen in love with her almost against his will. Severin bewitched him instantly. He’d needed an escape, needed the noise and frivolity of a crowded ball. And then he’d seen her…

She waited demurely in a corner with downcast eyes, sitting in a chair that he supposed had been brought for her to sit in by some other admirer, who had conveniently disappeared to fetch a glass of punch. Or so he hoped.

Marko sensed she was anything but demure. Her gown was daringly low-cut, made of subtly striped velvet that fell in voluptuous folds beneath her half-bared bosom and looked from a distance like the valuable fur of some rare and dangerous cat. He looked at the hands folded in her lap, and noted that her nails were beautifully shaped and—were they touched with gold? The unusual adornment added to her exotic appearance and was sensual in the extreme. He wanted to kiss each pretty fingertip one by one, feel her gilded nails rake his back…

She rubbed one hand absently over the other. He could well imagine being caressed by her. Marko collected himself. He did not want to be caught staring.

“Who is she?” he whispered to Denis, grateful that the youngest man in the Pack, the one they all called the cub, had agreed to come along with him tonight. Of late Denis had cut an amorous swath through the crème de la crème of female London, dark hair pomaded, strong neck dabbed with musky cologne. He represented an extreme of male style but it worked. Denis had to stay a step ahead of a few outraged husbands, who, of course, were unfaithful themselves as a rule. Still, his cubbish interest in who was sleeping with whom, married or not, meant he kept up with the latest London gossip and his information was generally accurate. It worked to Marko’s advantage, as he tended to avoid social occasions, not having the time for many.

“I am not sure,” Denis said, to Marko’s surprise. “She has an odd name—I don’t remember it. Not married, as far as I know. And she is not upon the town.”

Marko nodded, studying her. “Then what does she do?”

“I believe that she is an arbiter of fashion or something like that. She is not a dressmaker, though—far from it. A friend of mine pointed her out to me once, but I was rather drunk at the time.”

“And that is why you don’t recall her name.”

“Exactly. But I do remember that my friend called her something odd. A mistress of illusion, I believe. Yes, that was what she said.”

“How interesting.” Marko’s curiosity about the self-contained beauty in the corner grew sharper. If only she would look up and let him catch her eye. He needed a pretext to talk to her.

“Do excuse me,” Denis was saying.

“Of course.”

“Good luck, old man.” Denis raised his glass.

Marko scowled at him. He could have done without the “old man.” He was not that much older than Denis. But then, he thought with a sigh, Denis was still a cub, for all his sexual adventurousness.

He crossed the room to the woman in the corner. She raised her dark head and gave him a melting look from eyes the color of amber. Marko was mesmerized. There was a knowing quality in her gaze that he found instantly erotic. She was very different from the usual females who infested London balls and assemblies, foolish young things who twittered and blushed, while keeping an eye on the relatives bent on marrying them off. No, she was quite alone, as far as he could tell, not seeming to care about propriety or even the appearance of it.

Yet before he asked her name, he found her so beautiful that he thought he might be dreaming. She was about to speak to him and he watched her extraordinarily sensual lips form two very ordinary words.

“Good evening,” she said.

She might as well have been asking him to kiss her. He would have too.

Marko bowed. “Good evening. I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to you. I am Marko Taruskin.”

“My name is Severin.”

She rose when he asked her to dance, not looking about for the admirer Marko had imagined. He had a feeling at once strange and delightful that he had fallen into a trap.

The music began and the orchestra played a minuet, orderly and precise. All he touched was her hand, but at that moment of connection, a sensation flowed between them that was powerfully sexual.

Going through the figures of the dance, Marko saw only her. Her complexion was as exotic as her gown, a creamy contrast to those dazzling amber eyes. As if to complement them, her amber pendant was nestled between her breasts.

Oh, Wolf above. How he tried not to look at it.

From the chandelier above, the pendant picked up light and cast a golden shadow upon her bosom, a little shadow that looked like a drop of honey. He thought then of how she would look with nothing on but that jewel, her nipples dark and rosy, her beautiful breasts heavy in his hand. He would bend down and apply his tongue to the drop of imaginary honey. Then her nipples. Then her neck.

He would not be satisfied until he could sweep her off her beautiful bare feet and carry her naked to his bed.

Marko realized that Severin was studying him each time her steps turned her to face him.

He managed a polite smile. He lifted his arm for her to pass under and turn again, observing the way the velvet of her gown moved sensually over her hips and legs. It caught the light and emphasized her delectable curves. How long had it been since he’d had a woman?

But Severin was not just a woman—she was closer to a divine incarnation of womanhood, someone a man might worship with his body and his soul. She had entranced him utterly in less than an hour. How she had done it, he could not say.

In his mind, she was naked, dancing just for him in a private chamber to which they had retreated. Not here, in this crowded ballroom, with others looking on, going through the motions of social intercourse, when he longed hotly for quite another kind.

The other women in the room seemed to be noting the details of her gorgeous attire, but the men knew how to see beneath. They looked at her again and again. Avidly.

He would willingly battle them all just to have her. Just for one night.

No, that would not be enough. He vowed not to let her go after this dance. He would find out more about her, where she lived, why she had come here alone—she had to have come alone. The admirer he’d imagined did not exist. No one had tapped him on the shoulder or called him out.

For now, she was his to dance with. He wanted more.

Her swirling gown brushed against his legs, ever so lightly but repeatedly, exciting intense desire. Marko gritted his teeth. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors that lined the ballroom walls. His expression would pass for a half-smile. He dared not look lower.

No one else seemed to care. The glittering company moved through the steps of the dance. Other women wearing gowns in hues as light as spring flowers shone in their way, but none was as dazzling as Severin. The men partnering them shot envious glances at Marko. The patterns of the minuet intersected and separated them all upon the floor.

If everyone else had vanished at that moment, Marko would have been sublimely happy. He could ask her to come away with him without fear of being overheard, without exposing her to the censure of other women.

Ah, if they could be alone and somewhere else. A room just for them, with a fine, four-postered bed. He would bury himself between her fine thighs, hold on for dear life to the rounded cheeks of her beautiful arse while he thrust deep within her body…again and again…

“The music has stopped,” she said, executing a final pirouette and looking up at him.

Marko didn’t let go of her hand. “So it has.” He willed his erect flesh to subside and kept her in front of him as he guided her from the dance floor. The exchange of pleasantries with other guests was an excruciating necessity.

He contrived to dance with her again, several times, and allowed no other man to get closer. He plied her with champagne—had they had one bottle or two? He did not remember that detail. At last he maneuvered her into a quiet corner and begged her to come away with him.

To his joy, she agreed, flirtatiously and tipsily. He’d told the driver, who discreetly ignored Severin, to just drive. They could decide upon their destination in time. Rolling away from the ball as the other guests departed, leaning back in the carriage that had waited for him, Severin’s face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. He told himself not to take advantage of her at that second she murmured the words he wanted most to hear.

“Kiss me, Marko.”

He needed no further encouragement. He pulled her into his lap, enjoying how her backside pressed into his lap with each jounce over the cobblestones. The horse trotted briskly when the street was smoother, and the carriage swayed a little from side to side.

He held her in his arms, running his hands eagerly over every part of her body he could reach, giving her enough room to rock with the motion of the carriage while he kissed her. Her lips were hot and the inside of her mouth, silky wet. Her tongue teased his and then she nipped his lower lip.

“I love to make love in a carriage. It has been far too long since I…oh, never mind. I am here with you and that is all that matters.”

“Have you no lover then?” Marko murmured. “It seems hardly possible that a woman like you would not.”

“No.”

Marko pulled up the velvet folds of her gown, pushing it back to reveal her bare thighs. “Marvelous stuff, this. As soft as your skin, I suspect.”

And he very much desired to find out just how soft that was.

Severin sighed when his hand settled upon one thigh, curving around it in firm possession. His other hand gripped her waist, keeping her on his lap, her head nestled against his shoulder. “Don’t stop,” she breathed in his ear. “I love to be stroked on the inside of my thighs.”

“Do you now.” He obliged. Her skin there was unbelievably soft, far softer than the luxurious velvet that had hidden it.

Marko traced his fingertips up, feeling first one thigh and then the other, savoring the heated fragrance of an excited woman. No perfume on earth compared to it.

Severin parted her legs to allow him more room. Great Wolf, if she didn’t stop squirming and rubbing all over his lap, he was likely to explode. He didn’t want to touch the sweet, soft flesh between her legs just yet. No, he would save that ultimate intimacy for later.

To have her open to him this much was intensely sensual. That he did not know her added spice to the unexpected encounter. He would need every bit of what was left of his self-control not to move her off his lap and lean her back against the cushions.

“You’ve stopped,” Severin moaned softly in his ear. “Why? I liked what you were doing.”

“And so did I. You are so beautiful, Severin,” he murmured. “And shameless.” His exploring fingers moved just a little higher.

She slipped a hand inside his coat, touching his tight nipples under the linen of his shirt.

Marko drew in his breath. She knew what she wanted—and she knew what men liked.

Her expertise became more evident when she moved her hand over the front of his breeches, rubbing and squeezing the stiff rod trapped within.

She murmured naughty things in his ear. How much she wanted to see what she could guess at was the least of it.

Marko moved her hand to the buttons at one side. “All shall be revealed,” he whispered.

One by one, she undid them, single-handed, with great dexterity. He cared not where she had learned to be so wanton—he only wanted to receive pleasure from her experienced hands.

She dragged her gold-tipped nails over the taut flesh of his groin. The stimulating effect went straight to his cock, which was still trapped beneath the flap of his breeches. She had undone only the buttons on one side.

The pressure was agonizing, although she had moved to the side to help free his eager flesh. Severin settled herself beside him and undid the other buttons.

There. He groaned. His cock rose up of its own accord. She took him in her soft fingers and gently stroked the heated shaft, searching for his mouth with her own, kissing him tenderly.

Marko scarcely knew where he was at that moment. In heaven or about to be, he thought vaguely.

He reached over to cup her breasts within the velvet bodice. Her nipples were erect and easy to feel in his cupped palms.

He squeezed both breasts as gently as she was handling him, following her lead. If, later, she wanted him to be a little rougher, pleasuring her darker needs with love bites and firmer handling, he would do that.

For now, as aroused as he was, it was best to go slowly. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her lasciviously. He broke off only to breathe. “Severin…I wish I could rip this damned dress to pieces.”

She laughed a little. “But then we would not be able to leave the carriage.”

“Must we leave it?”

“Do you not want to lie with me, Marko?”

He wanted nothing more. At last, by a stroke of luck he would never understand, he had found a woman whose talent for amorous play went beyond his wildest dreams. Consumed by lust though he was, Marko knew that there was far more to Severin than that. He would never get enough of her. In just one night—and the night was far from over—his world had been turned upside down.

Eventually, he answered her question with sensual strokes and loving murmurs. “Yes. Yes.” She responded in kind. He could love her, he thought, befuddled. Surely the intensity of everything he was feeling, even its suddenness, was a sign of that celebrated emotion. They were off to a wonderful start.

Marko trusted his instinctive response. Dimly he remembered Kyril telling him that one just knew when the love of one’s life appeared, because there was nothing else like it. The body echoed the joy of the soul at that moment.

The carriage began to slow and Marko groaned, stiff all over with the aching need he felt for her.

“Where are we?” she asked softly. Severin pulled down her dress and patted her hair, breathless with excitement. “I am not fit to be seen.”

“I disagree.”

She moved away but she shot him a sensual look. It was clear that she was as thrilled as he was by the dizzying progress of their encounter. The odd feeling of déjà vu that had followed his first look into her eyes had been a sign of sorts. Marko was almost convinced that the mysterious Severin could be his one and only.

To join completely with her would naturally come next. He was drunk with new love and just able to keep from declaring the unexpected feeling then and there. He did not really know her. He wanted to, he would, but it would not do to rush that either.

She pushed aside the curtain that covered the small window of the carriage, and looked out.

He noted how her face had changed when the carriage came to a sudden stop. Had the sudden jolt brought her to her senses? Her rosy cheeks paled and the radiance in her eyes vanished. Marko leaned over, wondering if she had seen some swaggering ne’er-do-well who frightened her. The street was empty but it was familiar, at least to him. The driver had brought them to St. James’s Square and the house of the Pack, evidently tired of going in circles.

“Is this where you live?” There was a wary edge in her soft voice.

He thought nothing of her question. There were at least a thousand buildings just like it in the better neighborhoods of London, remarkable only for their anonymity. Which was precisely why the Pack had made it their headquarters—that, and its nearness to the Court of St. James. As well, its thick walls made it ideal for a lair, when they were in the mood for a Howl, the traditional celebration of the Pack, or just a wild party. “At times, Severin. Not always. The driver came here out of habit.”

She only nodded, pushing the curtain back a little more to look far up at the top windows of the house.

Marko sat back and fumbled with his buttons, willing his overexcited cock to soften. In another minute, he managed it. He could hear the horse stamp upon the cobblestones. Before long he would have to decide where they would stay the night, most likely at a hotel. Not here. And they could not stay forever in the carriage and expect the unwilling horse to trot through the streets of London indefinitely.

Severin sat back from the window. “That man—who is he?”

Marko craned his neck. So she had seen someone at a window. It must have been Feodor, who was now coming down the front steps of the house—but why would he have frightened her? The man was not a full-blooded member of the Pack and did not possess the masterfulness they prided themselves on. If anything, he was ordinary, except for his odd yellow eyes. Marko had no wish to talk to him at the moment.

“A distant cousin of mine. Feodor Kulzhinsky.”

Severin seemed uneasy. “And he lives here?”

“The house belongs to my family. All of us are free to come and go.”

She seemed to be studying Feodor, who strolled away. Excellent. A tedious explanation would not need to be made, Marko thought. Feodor could be inquisitive and might be especially so under the circumstances. Of course, Marko had never brought a woman to the house, although he had been advised that his cousin had sneaked a few by the major d’omo, and that they were not the sort of females that required introducing or expected politesse. Feodor had low tastes.

“I cannot stay the night with you,” Severin said suddenly.

“What? But we don’t have to stay here, my dear—”

She smiled a little wistfully. “I am sorry, Marko. Please take me to my house.”

“But—” He fought for self-control. Severin had aroused him to fever pitch and suddenly she wanted nothing to do with him. What had cooled her ardor?

She sat back. “Now.”

Mystified, Marko studied her, half-wild with sexual frustration. “Very well,” he said. “But you will have to tell me where that is.”

She gave him the address. He hoped it was the real one.

 

It had been. In the ensuing weeks, he’d been permitted the liberty of calling upon her there, if nothing else. They conversed often, sexually charged but outwardly sedate sessions that drove him half-mad with desire for her.

As for the rest of it—the ridiculous emotions, overwhelming feelings that he had mistaken for love—well, she had dazzled him. To some degree, he felt he’d been played for a fool, but it could happen when a man was not on his guard.

As to who would have the upper hand in their love affair, Marko realized two could play at being mysterious. He would provide tidbits of information, mostly misleading, about the Pack if she should ask. He would never give away all.

As far as the mystery of Severin herself, his connections insisted that she was not a courtesan and never had been, only that she was employed by the best of them and aristocratic ladies as well, keeping her clients in the height of fashion. Other than that, there was very little gossip about her, good or bad.

It occurred to him that he had come too close to her somehow during the night of the ball and the carriage ride afterward. No wonder she had become suddenly skittish and refused to stay. By caressing her beautiful body with all the expertise he possessed, he had managed to storm her heart as well. Her surprise at his doing so had been genuine.

There was certainly something between them. Call it animal attraction. Her sensuality could very well be her undoing, if he had his way. Marko knew that Severin desired him. Her amber eyes glowed brightly when they merely talked—he knew what the light in them signified. Without intending to, she had given her innermost self away to some degree in the carriage.

Since then, her body—the way she leaned toward him, came a trifle too close—had seemed to promise much, but they were not progressing on that front. She would not say yes and she would not say no. Very well. He might have to help her arrive at a decision somehow where sex was concerned. He felt that she owed him, ungentlemanly and rude as . . .