Double Jeopardy Ch 01

New Orleans, 1925

Secrets could never be kept from the maid.

Chloe Monroe found this out first hand as she stood in the darkness of the servant's stairs behind the master bedroom wall, a small lantern at her feet. She was no stranger to the sounds of passion—the soft moans, rustling sheets and whispered words—she'd been a widow for more than a year, but that didn't mean one forgot.

The folded linens in her arms went forgotten and her pulse leapt in anticipation. Lucian Deveraux was the master at

Vieux Coeur

,

an estate his great-grandfather had built during the early eighteen hundreds. Chloe had never seen anyone as handsome as Lucien. With his gilded hair, sinful blue eyes and rakishly good looks, it was no wonder that women frequently found excuses to visit the house. She'd felt the same pull of attraction dozens of times, but Lucien was a busy man who had no time to pay attention to his servants. And that's all she was now. A servant. Her days of glamorous parties and a staff of her own were long over.

The servant's stairs ran all through the estate, from the basement to the third floor. Legend was that the elder Mr. Deveraux had had dealings with Jean Lafitte himself and used the passageways to smuggle contraband to the canal. It was most likely true because she knew for a fact that Lucien used the same passageways to smuggle bootlegged whiskey out of New Orleans.

Shafts of light gleamed into the dark passageway through wood that was riddled with wormholes, and it glittered upon the dust dancing in the air. There was a small tear in the silk wallpaper from the inside of the room and it gave her a perfect view inside Lucien's private domain. A faint glow of candle flame flickered from somewhere and the scent of sex was stronger than the earthiness of the corridor where she stood. Her eye roamed lazily around the room, over plush chairs and a low-banked fire, to the massive four-poster bed that was the focal point of the room. Crimson sheets pooled over the edge and onto the floor like blood.

The muffled sound of a grunt pulled her attention to the center of the bed. Her eyes widened as she saw Lucien in naked splendor. His skin was tanned from the time he spent on his ships, and his torso and thighs were muscled impressively. A fine feathering of light hair covered his chest, and the sheen of perspiration matted the hair at his temples. He knelt behind his lover, his buttocks flexing with each thrust, and he threw his head back in ecstasy as his rhythm sped to an impossible tempo.

But it wasn't the sight of Lucien that brought a small gasp to her lips. It was the man who knelt before him. She'd never seen him before. She would have remembered.

The man's swarthy skin and black hair contrasted against Lucien's fairness. And he didn't seem the type to kneel before anyone. Even now, his head was thrown back in a defiance that warred with his moans of pleasure.

Moisture pooled between Chloe's thighs, soaking the thin cotton of her bloomers. She watched the man's face, the mixture of pleasure and agony, as Lucien's thrusts became even more rapid.

"You love my cock, don't you?" Lucien asked. "You can't be around me without wanting my cock up your ass."

"Fuck you," the dark man answered.

Lucien's lover held onto one of the massive posts at the end of the bed, his legs spread far apart and his muscles taut. His thick prick stood at attention, almost to his bellybutton, so hard it looked painful. It was wet with the beginnings of his come, the tip swollen and ripe like a plum. Lucien took hold of the man's hips and each thrust made the bed creak.

Chloe let the fresh linens she held fall to the dusty floor. She'd have to rewash them in her off hours, but she couldn't help the sudden need that came over her. She hadn't felt a man's touch in so long, and her fingers had been her only satisfaction for the last year. She inched the dark gray skirt and slip she wore up over her thighs until it was bunched at her waist. Her fingers found their way to the soft folds of flesh, slicked with desire, and she found the tiny nubbin hidden within.

"No,

mon noir

," Lucien answered. "It is I who is fucking you."

My darkness

.

Chloe thought the endearment terribly appropriate. She couldn't take her eyes from the erotic picture they made—both of them so strong, so muscular—one taking, the other being taken. The sounds of their flesh slapping together, the scent of their sex, the gentle touches and demands they gave as they neared completion.

Chloe rubbed her swollen flesh, wishing she could join them on the bed—to feel a hard cock penetrate her once again. Her nipples were rigid and rubbed against the coarse fabric of her dress. She breathed in shallow pants as a heaviness gathered at her core. Her hand braced against the raw beams of the passageway, and she ignored the splinters as she delved her fingers into her neglected channel.

Lucien caressed a finger down the dark man's back, bringing a chill to his lover's skin. Lucien then slid his hand around, teasing his lover with his fingers as they barely touched the tip of his rigid cock. The dark one's rod jumped at the touch, and Lucien laughed at his lover's predicament. Lucien finally decided to torment no more and grasped his lover's rod in a hard fist, pumping him with every thrust.

"Harder, harder," Lucien's lover panted against the assault.

Chloe knew they were both close to fulfillment, as was she. The moans grew desperate. The air lay heavy with tension until Lucien gave a final thrust and plunged into the dark man's ass further than before. Chloe watched as a white stream of come shot from the stranger's prick, thick and copious, and landed on the crimson sheets. Lucien stiffened and screamed out his own pleasure. She couldn't contain her own moan as an orgasm hit her with the strength of a wave crashing on the shore.

Chloe slumped against the wall, her breathing heavy and her pulse racing. It had been too long since she'd come like that. For the last year her climaxes had been a necessity, a way to relieve the body of sexual desire the same way one might relieve a headache by rubbing at the temples.

She let her dress fall back to her knees and tried to straighten her appearance as best she could. She'd have to go back to her rooms and wash and change clothes. Her panties were soaked and her clothes were wrinkled and damp with sweat.

Chloe bent to pick up the linens that had fallen to the floor and spared one last glance at the couple on the bed. Lucien was hunched over his partner, his breathing beginning to slow and the sweat on his back beginning to cool. But it was the other man, once again, who caught her attention. He rested comfortably on his elbows, his head up and his posture relaxed despite the man who lay heavily on his back.

His dark gaze stared at the wall, as if he could see through it. As if he could see her.

Chloe shivered and used the passageway to go back to her room, assuring herself that the direction of the stranger's stare was only coincidence. But she knew it would be him she saw in her dreams from now on. Not Lucien.