Sweet as the Devil
Susan Johnson
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
EPILOGUE
Teaser chapter
Praise for the novels of Susan Johnson
“Susan Johnson is a queen of erotic, exciting romance who soars to new heights with each novel.”
—Romantic Times
“Johnson delivers another fast, titillating read that overflows with sex scenes and rapid-fire dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A spellbinding read and a lot of fun. . . Johnson takes sensuality to the edge, writing smoldering stories with characters the reader won’t want to leave.”
—The Oakland (MI) Press
“Smart . . . sexy . . . sensuous . . . [Her] books are legendary!”
—Robin Schone, USA Today bestselling author
“Sensually charged writing . . . Johnson knows exactly what her devoted readers desire, and she delivers it with her usual flair.”
—Booklist
“Fascinating . . . The author’s style is a pleasure to read.”
—Los Angeles Herald-Examiner
“Flat-out fabulous, sexy [novels] so textured they sometimes compare . . . to the phenomenal Judith Ivory.”
—All About Romance
Berkley Sensation Books by Susan Johnson
HOT PINK
HOT LEGS
HOT SPOT
FRENCH KISS
WINE, TARTS, & SEX
HOT PROPERTY
GORGEOUS AS SIN
SEXY AS HELL
SWEET AS THE DEVIL
TWIN PEAKS
(with Jasmine Haynes)
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
SWEET AS THE DEVIL
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / March 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Susan Johnson.
Excerpt from Seductive as Flame by Susan Johnson copyright © by Susan Johnson.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-47750-2
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CHAPTER 1
London, May 1893
“JAMIE, DON’T YOU dare leave! I need you. Jamie!”
Already sliding from the bed, James Blackwood turned back, leaned over in a fluid ripple of honed muscle, and kissed the countess’s pouty mouth. “I would stay if I could, darling,” he said, sitting up and smiling at her. “But I’m already late. Drinks at eight. John’s new wife was quite emphatic.”
“Pshaw on little Vicky,” Countess Minton peevishly noted. “What about me? I haven’t seen you in almost a year. And it’s only drinks. You won’t miss dinner, I promise. You can’t say you’re not interested,” she murmured, her sultry gaze drifting to Jamie’s blatant erection, her smile sly and knowing.
“You keep a man interested, Bella—no doubt about that.” The voluptuously nude woman sprawled in the shambles of the bed was well aware of her sensual allure. And her charming capacity for innovation was also an accomplishment of no small merit. “Unfortunately,” he said with a truly regretful sigh, “duty calls.” There were degrees of lateness and politesse apropos his cousin’s wife, and he was pressing the boundaries of both. He began to turn away.
Rolling up on one elbow with breathtaking speed, Isabella seized Jamie’s upthrust penis in her pink-nailed grip, swiftly bent her head, and seized the moment.
Christ! Jamie’s breath hissed through his teeth, his cock oversensitive after hours of fucking, Bella’s assault a shock to his nerve endings. But a heartbeat later, his twitching nerves adjusted with indecent speed to licentious pleasure and he softly exhaled. Now what? With Bella performing fellatio in her usual masterful fashion, assessing the relative merits of duty and lust required a degree of rational observation that was fast eluding him. Yet—a modicum of reason still remained in the nether reaches of his brain; he glanced at the clock.
Bella suddenly nibbled a trifle overzealously or perhaps deliberately, and an unexpectedly sharp jolt mauled his senses.
He gasped, the fine line between pleasure and pain not only taking his breath away but also effectively ending his debate. What the hell. Shutting his eyes, he gave himself up to prodigal sensation.
One good turn deserved another, et cetera, et cetera, and an hour later, lying facedown on the bed, panting, Bella gasped, “No more.”
Sprawled on his back beside her, laboring to drag air into his lungs, Jamie finally became aware of the censorious voice inside his head that had been trying to warn him for a considerable time that—Vicky’s going to be furious! Silently swearing, he lifted his head from the pillow, took a disgruntled breath, and sat up. Why had he made plans? He never made plans. Raking his fingers through his dark, ruffled hair, he wondered how much time had passed since he’d been so felicitously persuaded to tarry.
Oh Christ. The face of the small bedside clock jerked him back to reality. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scanned the floor for his
trousers.
“Don’t go.”
He glanced at the flushed woman who could keep his cock hard indefinitely. “You said no more.”
Her smile was Circe’s. “I take it back.”
His dark lashes lowered slightly. “Be reasonable. I’m already later than hell.”
“I don’t care. Stay—please, please.”
For a moment he actually debated staying; it was incredibly late. He still had to return to his apartment and change—which would make him even later. Dare he ignore Vicky’s invitation? And risk his cousin’s displeasure? Knowing the politic answer, he twisted back with the fluid grace of an athlete, whispered in Bella’s ear, and quickly quit the bed before his libido regained the upper hand.
He found his trousers where they’d been hastily discarded that morning after he’d stopped by to talk to Charlie about a prime cavalry mount he wished to buy and had found Isabella in dishabille instead.
Charlie was out of town, she’d explained with a seductive smile. “But there’s no reason to hurry off, Jamie dear,” she’d purred. “We haven’t seen each other in ages. Do tell me all the gossip from Vienna.”
She hadn’t meant it of course.
She’d meant something else entirely.
And now he was damnably late for Vicky’s dinner.
HE MADE HIS excuses to Vicky and his cousin, John, Baron Reid, and to all the guests who’d looked up from their desserts as he’d entered the dining room and greeted him with sly smiles and curious gazes. No one believed for a minute that he’d been detained because of an accident on the Windsor road, since Vicky had chanced to mention over drinks that Jamie had gone to see Charlie Bonner on the matter of a horse, to which Freddy Stockton had pointed out that Charlie was in the country. Everyone also knew that Isabella had a penchant for handsome men and Jamie Blackwood in particular.
But since the fashionable world viewed fidelity in marriage much as they viewed children—as something to be ignored—amorous peccadillos were not only commonplace but also generally regarded with amusement.
So after the initial raised brows and roguish scrutiny, conversation reverted to the usual tittle-tattle and gossip that passed for social intercourse in the frivolous world of the beau monde. Several earlier courses were brought up from the kitchen for Jamie while the other guests indulged in a sumptuous variety of sweets. John’s chef was superb, the wine free-flowing, and famished after having exerted himself at stud all day, Jamie tucked into his meal with gusto.
“Worked up an appetite, I see,” Viscount Graham sportively noted.
Jamie turned a bland gaze on the man to his left. “There’s no opportunity to eat when your carriage’s stalled in traffic.”
“The road to Windsor, you said?” the viscount pronounced with unsullied cheer.
“Yes, Windsor.” Jamie set down his knife and fork, his dark brows lifted faintly. “Would you care to ask me something ?”
Graham smiled widely. “Hell no.” While Jamie served officially as attaché to Prince Ernst of Dalmia, he was, in effect, bodyguard to the prince, and in that capacity had gained a reputation for efficiency, or more pertinently, violence.
“I didn’t think so.” Jamie signaled to have his wineglass filled, and returned to his meal.
MUCH LATER, WHEN all the guests had departed and Vicky had gone off to bed, Jamie and his cousin retired to John’s study to share a decanter of whiskey.
“Allow me to apologize again for arriving so late,” Jamie immediately said. “It was—”
“Bella’s engaging charm?” his cousin interposed with a grin. “Along with her inexhaustible desires?”
“Indeed.” Jamie dipped his head. “Not that I’m complaining. You no doubt speak from experience.”
“Previous experience. I’m a happily married man now.”
Jamie raised his glass in salute. “To your brilliant marriage. You love Vicky and she obviously loves you. A nice change from the beau monde’s penchant for marriages based on balance sheets and quarterings.” With a smile for his cousin, he drank down his whiskey.
“Thank you. I consider myself very fortunate. You should consider marriage. I heartily recommend it. Women are always in hot pursuit of you,” John said with a lift of his brows. “Why not let yourself be caught?”
“No thanks.” Swift and certain. “The Isabelles of the world suit me just fine.”
“So it seems. My personal bet was you wouldn’t make dinner.”
“I almost didn’t. It was a matter of not wanting to disappoint your lovely new bride.”
“And you were fucked out,” his cousin perceptively remarked.
Jamie smiled. “That, too.”
“Someday the right woman is going to change your mind about marriage.”
Jamie gently shook his head. “Don’t waste your breath. Unlike you, I’ve never been enthralled with the concept of love. Several of your youthful infatuations come to mind,” Jamie added with a grin, “if you’d like me to refresh your memory.”
“God, no. In any case, Vicky’s different.”
“Which is why you married her. I’m not questioning your sincerity. I just lack the necessary sense of devotion.” Leaning forward, Jamie picked up the decanter and refilled his glass.
“I used to think as much.”
Jamie shot his cousin a jaundiced glance, but rather than argue his cousin’s past history with women, Jamie set down the crystal container and politely said, “Even if I were inclined to endorse the notion of love and marriage, at the moment, I’m up to my ears in risky ventures. As you well know, the Habsburg Empire’s in decline; every petty despot with influence or an army at his back is jockeying for position.”
“Including Prince Ernst.”
“Including him.” Leaning back in his chair, Jamie met his cousin’s gaze with his usual immutable calm. “He’s as ambitious as the rest. And why shouldn’t he be? Twenty generations of Battenbergs have ruled that piece of prime real estate, offered up their resources and sons to the emperor when needed, and played a significant role in the Habsburg prosperity.”
“As your family has for the Battenbergs.” Jamie’s forebears had fled Scotland after the ’45 defeat and sold the services of their fighting clan to the duchy of Dalmia.
“With due compensation,” Jamie serenely said, John’s red hair gleaming in the lamplight always reminding him of his mother’s. Shaking off the melancholy that always overcame him on recall of his mother’s unnecessary death, he pushed up from his lounging pose and said, “You heard, of course, that Uncle Douglas came back from India with a fortune.”
“And a native wife.”
“A very beautiful wife. He’s looking to invest his money. I told him to talk to you. You’ve guarded my investments well,” Jamie said with a grin.
“Anyone could. Other than upkeep on your Dalmian estate, you don’t spend any money.”
“I don’t have time. Guarding Ernst is a round-the-clock commission.”
“Speaking of guarding, who’s protecting Ernst in your absence?”
“He’s on holiday with his newest paramour, who rules a principality of her own with a small army and a top-notch palace guard.” Lifting his glass to his mouth, Jamie arched his brows. “Adequate deterrent to any assassin,” he murmured and drank down half the whiskey.
“Which explains your holiday in Scotland.”
“A much needed holiday,” Jamie softly replied, lowering his glass to the chair arm.
John looked surprised. “Do I detect a modicum of frustration? Is Ernst spending too much time in libertine pursuits—silly question.”
“Let’s just say he doesn’t have his father’s sense of responsibility.”
“Or any responsibility at all.”
“He was perhaps too indulged.” Jamie shrugged. “A problem at a time when Dalmia could use a ruler of insight and diligence.”
“What of his heir? Rupert appears to be of a sensible nature.”
“He’s still young, and tig
er hunting in India at the moment with his friends. But even if Rupert wished to take a hand in the administration of the duchy, Ernst wouldn’t let him. Like your queen, Ernst has no wish to share power.” The Prince of Wales was almost sixty and still not allowed to participate in Queen Victoria’s government. “In any event, at twenty, Rupert’s probably too young to effectively deal with the political scheming in our corner of the world. It’s reached new, ruthless heights.”
“How so? Haven’t the Balkans always been a tinderbox?”
“It’s worse now. The emperor’s totally oblivious to the political realities of the world. He’s a blundering dyed-in-the-wool reactionary with fifty million subjects from a dozen nations itching to rise in revolt. His enemies are simply waiting in the wings, nurturing their ambitions. With the crown prince dead and the new heir a witless dolt, once Franz Joseph dies, all hell’s going to break loose. And after three assassination attempts in the past few years, the emperor’s death may come sooner rather than later.”
“Like Rudolf’s. Some say it wasn’t suicide.”
“More than some. The crown prince was too liberal for those in power. His advisors were impatient for him to depose his father and take the reins of empire. Rumor has it that he and his mistress were shot with a sniper rifle while they slept”—Jamie arched one brow—“or were passed out. Rudolf was addicted to morphine.”
“Because of his unpleasant disease.”
“Yes—a bright young man killing himself slowly.” Jamie grimaced. “But screw it. I’m not in Vienna, I’m here. Tell me about your thoroughbreds instead. I heard that your chestnut brute’s going to take all the major races next year.” The last thing Jamie wished to dwell on was the crumbling Habsburg monarchy.
