Art of Seduction Read online

  Art of Seduction

  A collection of five erotic stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  ISBN 9781907761867

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  These stories were also published in Seriously Sexy One published by Accent Press Ltd – 2008

  ISBN 9781906125820

  Contents

  Art Of Seduction Gina Martinelli

  Pubslut Emily Dubberley

  Any Three Can Playe Alex Severn

  One November Evening Katie Lilly

  Bait & Switch Landon Dixon

  Art Of Seduction

  by Gina Martinelli

  Paris, September 1793

  Angelique’s heart pounded as the carriage rumbled along the cobble stones. She could not believe how her life had changed so drastically. France was in turmoil. The revolution had come.

  “At least we escaped with our lives,” she murmured, thinking of her loyal servants who had stayed behind. If it hadn’t been for them, hiding her in a secret passage, she would have been murdered by the villagers who had stormed the Chateau.

  “They are killing aristocrats everywhere,” said the woman, sitting beside her.

  “I know. But perhaps in Paris we will be safer.” Angelique’s fingers trembled as she pushed aside the square piece of curtain on the carriage window. Through the small space she could see Notre Dame looming up, the gargoyles glaring at her as they passed.

  A mob of men congregated on the corner, their faces bitter and twisted as they turned to look at the carriage. Angelique let the curtain fall, but not before she had seen a man turn, his features outlined by the burning torch held in his right hand. He had jet black hair, touching his shoulders, and high cheekbones. Even in the shadowy light, she could see his skin was pale as he addressed the mob. He waved his arms in fury at the carriage. Several police officers stood beside him, their weapons held across their chests.

  The carriage picked up speed. Angry shouts echoed around her. Pistol shots pierced the air.

  “Oh my God…they are after us again,” said her companion.

  Angelique put a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm. “Do not fear so. Our driver is the best. He will not let them catch us.” She paused slightly, saying softly, “And even if they did, I would use these.”

  She held up a pair of silver pistols that she had placed under the seat. They were weapons that belonged to her father, gifted to him by the King to show his appreciation for the finest wine her father had supplied the Royal House from his Loire Valley vineyard.

  “It is best I make my own way, Mademoiselle,” the woman said. Earlier on, Angelique had offered her refuge at their house in Paris, but she had declined. The carriage slowed, and then stopped. The last thing Angelique saw was the woman’s black cloak swirling about her as she blended into a dark alleyway.

  Angelique thought about her father. She had rarely seen him over the past year as he had been travelling around Europe. She knew perfectly well he had plans to marry her off to a man who was twice her age and very rich. But she wouldn’t let him, she thought adamantly. She wanted to marry for love as she had often read about in the books she had bought every time she had visited Paris.

  The carriage pulled up with a jolt. Wearily, Angelique made her way up the steps to her father’s residence.

  “This way, Mademoiselle…” the maid said with a quick curtsy, showing her to her bedchamber. Angelique sank onto the four-poster bed and closed her eyes, grateful to have made it to safety.

  The maid hovered. “Shall I help you undress, Mademoiselle?”

  Angelique gave a smile. “Non. Merci.”

  “You would like a cup of cocoa?”

  “Oui, s’il vous plaît”

  She was just drifting off to sleep a few minutes later when the maid returned. She seemed agitated. “'Are you awake, Mademoiselle? There is a man downstairs who demands to see you.”

  “Me?” Angelique’s brow creased in puzzlement. “But what could he possibly want?”

  The maid shook her head. “I do not know.”

  When Angelique entered the salon, she froze. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was he. The man she had seen on the street corner earlier.

  He gave a bow. “My name is Adrien Laroche. I am a Senior officer on the Committee of General Security.” He paused briefly. “I have some questions I would like to ask you. Please…” he pointed to a chair, “won’t you be seated.”

  Angelique knew that he would be under the authority of Robespierre, the most feared man in all of France.

  The man cleared his throat. “Robespierre has given orders…”

  “Robespierre,” she cut in with disgust. “That murderer. He executed the King, and now he wants rid of the Queen.”

  His jaw tightened. “Mademoiselle, I advise you to be careful in what you say.”

  Refusing to be intimidated, she held his gaze. “But it is true. I am not afraid to voice my opinion.”

  “Brave words, but foolish,” he murmured. Laroche moved forward, so that he towered over her where she sat. Angelique could feel the ruthless strength emanating from him as he circled her slowly. She bit her lip, holding down the thudding apprehension in her chest.

  “Why are you here, in Paris?” he demanded. “Do you not realise how dangerous it is to travel the roads at night?”

  “We had no choice.” She told him what had happened. “My father had sent word a few days ago he would be here. But as you see, he is not.”

  Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “You lie. Where is he?”

  Her breath came in a gasp. “I do not know.” She tried to loosen his grip but he would not let her go.

  He said softly, a hint of steel in his voice. “Do you know what the Conciergerie is, Mademoiselle?

  Her throat went dry. “Yes,” she whispered. “I know of it.” It was where traitors are taken to be tortured.

  “Then you had better be telling me the truth.”

  “I am. My father has not done anything wrong. I am sure of it. He is a law-abiding citizen.”

  “That is not what I have heard. Your father is working against the revolution.”

  “No, you are wrong. He would never do such a thing. He looks after those who work for him. I cannot believe he would be involved in anything like you are insinuating.”

  “Your devotion is very touching,” he said dryly.

  Angelique gave him a defiant look, but her pulse was racing.

  Laroche fingered the ruby necklace around her neck, making her quiver. The stones glowed deep red in the flickering candlelight. He touched her neck, his cool fingers sliding across her pale white shoulders. The touch of his fingers reminded her of the guillotine. So many had died already. She was innocent, so she had nothing to fear, she reminded herself.

  “A pretty necklace, Mademoiselle, n’est-ce pas?” he said. “And for one as beautiful as you.”

  “'It was a present from my mother before she died,” explained Angelique.

  He moved behind her and unfastened the necklace. The touch of those long fingers upon her skin made her heart beat faster. He took the rubies from her neck and moved away from her chair, holding the stones steadily in the palm of his hand.

  “These stones are worth a great deal. The money they could bring would feed many families,” he remarked, irony in his tone. “Have you no shame?”

  She took a deep breath.
“I would not wish people to starve…”

  As Laroche leaned closer she could see the tiny lines of exhaustion around his eyes. His shoulders set with weariness. “We will see if your heart is true, or whether the blood that runs in your veins is as hard as these stones.” He turned to the guard in the corner and said harshly, “Arrest her.”

  Two days she had been locked up in this room. Angelique battered on the door with her fists. Suddenly, the lock rattled and the door opened. It was Adrien Laroche, the officer who had arrested her.

  “Leave us,” he said to the guard. The door slammed shut behind him. “So…” he began, “has this spell of confinement brought you to your senses?”

  Angelique lifted her chin. “I have done nothing. You have no right to keep me here.”

  He gave a small laugh. “Ah…we shall see.” His finger stroked her cheek. “You are trembling, Mademoiselle.”

  “I…I…am feeling cold. There were not enough blankets.”

  He frowned. “I had given orders you were to be made comfortable.”

  Her pulse rioted at his concern. His nearness was disconcerting and she tried to look away but it was impossible. She could feel his gaze raking her. If only she had her shawl with her, to cover herself. She felt so exposed in her black silk dress, the bodice laced provocatively low.

  He reached behind her, pulling the pins from her hair so it fell loose around her shoulders. She was at his mercy and he knew it.

  He gave a laugh. “Yes, you are my prisoner, Mademoiselle. And your father is also in my custody.”

  “My father?” she gasped, forgetting about her own discomforts. “You have found him?”

  His eyes narrowed. “He has admitted his guilt.”

  “You forced him,” she accused.

  “No…” he said sharply. “He confessed readily. Of course, he had encouragement. He knew you had been imprisoned.”

  Angelique fell silent. After a few moments, she asked carefully, “What do you want with me now?”

  “Simple. I have a proposal to make.” His eyes flickered. “I wish you to spend a night with me. In return, I will ensure your father’s sentence of the guillotine will be changed to ten years in gaol.”

  She looked at him steadily. “And if I refuse?”

  “Your father will die. And you will be sold into a brothel.”

  Angelique stared. “You cannot mean it.”

  “Mademoiselle, I will give you time to think about my proposal. But not too long. I am an impatient man.”

  He had just turned towards the door, when she said, “Wait…” She took a step forward, her mind made up. “I will do as you say.”

  What could she expect from him, she wondered? Every possibility ran through her mind.

  “Come,” said Laroche, taking her arm firmly. He led her to the carriage. When they arrived at his apartment, she was fascinated to see it littered with papers and books. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured her a glass. “Let us toast to our bargain.”

  She took the glass from him, and studied the label on the bottle. “Oh…this is wine from our vineyard.”

  “Very appropriate, do you not think? It is my favourite wine. It has a tang. Fruity and smooth.” He leaned closer. “It thrills the palate like the kiss of a lover.” His words were said so sensuously that Angelique could not help flushing. Would he even guess she had never even been kissed before? But she was not about to tell him this. She sipped the wine slowly, grateful for the time that it bought her before the inevitable. All those books of love she had read would be of no help to her now.

  On the wooden table lay a pair of iron handcuffs. Her eyes widened. Would he intend using them on her should she resist? The thought of them made her breath come in quicker.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Laroche lifted them up and shook them so they jangled. “For you? No. You are too fine boned for these. I would not wish to chafe that delicate skin of yours.”

  “Oh…” was all she could say in confusion. His gentle manner seemed at odds with his earlier attitude. It was obvious he was a complex man. Perhaps, in time she could learn more about him.

  “You know Robespierre well?” she asked tentatively.

  “Well enough…” He gave a frown.

  “He is a butcher,” she stated with vehemence.

  “He once was a visionary,” he replied quickly. “Is it so wrong to want justice for our people?” His eyes burned with an intensity that took her breath away. “I have given my life to this cause. To free France from the burden of the aristocracy. Equality for all.”

  “The world thinks otherwise.”

  He shot a blistering look at her. “Who cares what the world thinks?” He put his hand on his chest, over his heart. “I am a Frenchman. It is what we feel here. That is what counts.”

  If only a man would be as passionate about her as he was about his cause.

  “Your vision has led to a bloodbath,” she reminded him.

  “I did not want this to happen…but,” he shrugged resigned, “those who hold the power will not change willingly. So they will be forced to. It is the only way.”

  “Like you are forcing me,” she said suddenly.

  She was rewarded with an angry glint in his eyes. He caught her wrist. “Damn you, Angelique. Your tongue has an acid touch about it. It is time to teach you a lesson.”

  She didn’t go willingly. He lifted her and deposited her roughly on the bed. She immediately scrambled off but he caught her around her waist and held her in his arms.

  “Need I remind you about your father?” he whispered in her ear.

  She froze, her heart hammering wildly.

  She let him unlace her bodice. She could not help but notice his fingers, long and tapering. Angelique felt her nipples tighten, and through the silky material she knew Adrien could see it as well. The corners of his mouth lifted.

  Once she was in her shift, his hands slipped under her full breasts cupping them, the fingertips smoothing over her taut nipples in a teasing caress.

  “Ah, you like this, do you not?” he said.

  “I…I…” she stammered. A whirlwind of emotions shot through her.

  As she looked at him, she realised how attracted she was to the deepness of his smile and the darkness of his eyes. To her shock, she found her own hands ached to undo his shirt, to feel the hardness of his muscled chest against the softness of her own skin. Then, as if he was aware of her feelings, he gave a small, knowing laugh.

  “We will take our time,” he added softly.

  Summoning up her courage, she undid his buttons, slowly, one by one. But with an impatient groan he ripped his shirt apart, the remainder of the buttons scattering in all directions. He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his midriff.

  “Touch me here,” he demanded, and she did, smoothing her hand across the planes of his stomach, until he groaned with sheer pleasure. It gave her a sense of power that she could have this effect on him.

  With one sweep of his other hand, he cupped her arse. Even with the folds of her skirts in the way, she could feel the hard swell of his cock against her, throbbing and pulsing. A deep, aching need opened inside her as her heart started racing, and her nerve endings began sizzling. She could feel her own wetness below, and the wanting of him. Her own body had finally betrayed her, she realised.

  With her skirts pooled on the floor, she waited, only imagining what would come next. He stepped out of his breeches and she could not help but stare at his nakedness. The broadness of his chest emphasised his waist tapering to slim hips. She dropped her gaze, uncertain as to what to do, but not before she had seen his cock, erect, and moist at the tip. Her breath began to quicken. She could not think properly. It is the wine, she thought. Or was it sorcery? Perhaps he had drugged her. Yet in all honesty, she knew he would not be the type of man to use drugs or the black arts. It would be a matter of pride where a woman was concerned.

  A suffused warmth crept down her body as his forefinger traced
a path from her neck, downwards across her breasts to that secret part of her between her thighs. She gave a gasp at the sudden unfamiliarity of his touch, but after a few moments her tension eased as his movement gentled, caressing the silky folds. She began to throb. A small strangled sound came from her throat.

  “It is not so bad, n’est-ce pas?” he teased. “I think you are ready for me.”

  She wasn’t going to be a virgin much longer, she realised. Wasn’t this what she had wanted all along?

  She tried to deny the pulsing knot in her stomach.

  “Lie on your front,” he said softly. Cautiously, she turned. He grabbed a pillow and placed it under her hips so they tilted upwards. His hands smoothed over the curves of her arse. A part of her felt excitement, another fear. It was a heady mixture. She recalled a novel she had read called the ‘Art of Seduction’ and although she lacked experience she had read of the ways between lovers and marvelled at it.

  Something hard penetrated her gently at first, then with his arm around her hips, he lifted her, moving his cock deeper inside. She could not help but cry out at the unfamiliarity of it.

  “Am I too rough?” he asked her, pausing.

  Had she been mistaken in hearing a note of concern in his voice?

  She shook her head. “No…no…it was just that you caught me by surprise.” That was true, she thought. He had. “Oh…” she murmured, giving in to the pleasurable feeling as he continued slowly sliding in and out in a rhythmic motion. His shaft seemed to fill her completely. The tension in her stomach disappeared replaced with wanton abandon. She found her hips instinctively responding by arching with each of his thrusts. He cupped her breasts, whispering in her ear, sucking and teasing with his tongue along the softness of her neck.

  “Now…turn around,” he demanded, “lie on your back,” and slowly, wickedly teasing him, she did. Moving upwards, he lay his shaft between her breasts before trailing down to between her thighs where he nestled. He nudged her legs wider with his knee. With his weight on his elbows, he penetrated her, his cock stiff and big still. The force of him made her gasp. With one hand he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. A cry screamed in her throat at the delicious sensation accompanying each thrust. He moved harder, deeper, faster. She could feel his balls smacking into her. Then he gave one long thrust that set his jaw tight.