Free The Copper and the Madam by Karyn Gerrard Page A

Her fingers
traced over the mother of pearl handle.
    “I thought coppers didn’t carry guns?”
    Rory took it from her and laid it on the
table by the bed along with his timepiece. “The constables do not,
however, detectives are allowed if they choose. Since the ripper
case in Whitechapel, I decided when I made detective, I would carry
one.”
    “You worked the Jack the Ripper case?”
    Rory chuckled, and then began to undo his
vest. Talking and watching him undress had an intimacy that made
her swallow hard. Rea’s fantasies ran rampant. If they were
married, she would be waiting for Rory to come home from work, just
like this—she shook her head to clear the nonsense.
    “I was one of many constables working the
case under Inspector Abberline and one of the first officers on the
scene when they found Mary Kelly—” His hands stilled on the
buttons, and Rea could see the dreadful memories haunt his
expression.
    “That must have been terrible,” she
whispered.
    “More terrible than I hope you could possibly
imagine,” he rasped. “Horrific. I never thought one human could do
that to another. She’d been torn to pieces, her heart—” He coughed,
and then continued to fumble with his vest. “Enough. Come over
here, Rhiannon, and finish with the buttons. I think I had one too
many bitters.”
    Rory, a tall and imposing man, could do
serious damage to another human being, nonetheless a warm feeling
covered her, the knowledge that Rory would never hurt her. Trust
him her inner voice urged, and she vowed to try and do that
very thing.
    Rea stepped in close. Rory looked down at
her, his longish hair falling over his face. His eyes burned, and
not from the drink.
    “You know, Rory, anytime you wish to talk to
me about your job, I am willing to listen. I am not a hot-house
flower whose petals will wilt at the slightest provocation. I have
an idea of what occurs out on the cobbles.”
    “Thank you, darlin’. I will take you up on
the offer. Now, take off my shirt as well.”
    The vest fell to the floor, so she worked the
buttons on his white shirt. Rea pushed it off his shoulders. She
had never seen Rory bare-chested. She stepped back to admire the
view. Well-formed, as if a sculptor had carved every muscled plane
with love. Reddish-brown hair dusted his chest and arrowed into a
thin line down his flat abdomen to disappear enticingly under the
waist of his trousers.
    “Touch me, Rhiannon.” His voice rough and
husky with need.
    She stepped closer and laid both hands flat
on his chest. The crisp chest hair curled about her fingers. He
felt even better than her dreams. She caressed him, tracing every
part of his torso. Warmth traveled through her body. Her insides
took a tumble. Desire. She knew it instinctively though she’d never
experienced the sensation, except when she watched Rory fuck.
    Prominent veins laced his arms. She followed
that trail with her fingers. Rory moaned, his head back, and his
eyes closed. Everywhere she explored she met with hard, unyielding
muscle and power.
    A prominent erection strained against his
trousers. A large man. She could see the proof. A cold fear gripped
her insides. He would want her to touch him there. Could she? Rea
had always considered a man’s cock a weapon, something used to
intimidate and dominate.
    “Please lass, brush your fingers over my
prick. For a moment only. I will ask nothing more, at least
regarding this.”
    Rea followed the length of him down between
his legs, and then slowly moved back up to his waist.
    “Oh, sweet Jaysus….” he groaned, his voice
coarse and laced with desire.
    His cock twitched. The tips of her fingers
came in contact with solid masculinity. Her nipples tightened. Yes,
she desired him, even this most male part of him.
    Rory clasped her wrist and caught her in his
heated gaze. “You don’t have to do any more. Not tonight. Will you
take this off? I want to see all of you. I have waited so bloody
long.”
    Old anxieties rose to the