The Seduction of Phaeton Black by Jillian Stone

massaged both temples. The girl was still not herself. Would the poor thing ever be right again? She had been a brave and sassy coworker, and he did not wish to think of her as half alive or half dead.
    Every muscle in his body ached. Except for an impressive last minute show of courage in the ring, Zander had soundly thrashed him. He often marveled at what, if anything, the Yard man saw in him. At least this time he had a trustworthy man at his back, both in the field and at the office. Not so with the Ripper case. He had instantly clashed with CID inspectors, fools with brains in their bollocks. They had gone to Chilcott and accused him of acting raving mad.
    The brothel was pleasantly tranquil in the early afternoon. He stole down the hall and stopped short of Esmeralda’s door. A silent turn of the knob, and he entered more of a library than a parlor for socializing. Astounded by the number and quality of books, he nosed about the dimly lit room. Many of the tomes dealt with middle eastern mythology, history, religion. An avid interest in anthropology, perhaps? He recalled Layla’s name, the aroma of curried dishes being prepared in the kitchen. There was much more to Esmeralda Parker than met the eye.
    From behind a wall of bookcases, soft moans of pleasure lofted through the air. He imagined Esmeralda naked and writhing beneath—well, he would rather not think about who, at the moment. He took a seat beside a pedestal table piled high with pictorial books and entertained a brief fantasy.
    Rummaging through the stack of oversized reference volumes, he found the perfect accompaniment to his rapidly burgeoning lower anatomy.
    The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight. Translated from the French by Sir Richard Francis Burton.
    He opened the book to a random illustration of a female. Sitting cross-legged, she reclined onto locked arms. Even though she wore exotic pantaloons, her breasts were bare. A man, her lover, knelt in front of her; one hand cupped a breast, the other held a nipple between thumb and forefinger.
    He read the caption. “If you desire coition, cling first to her bosom; bite her, kiss her breasts, then suckle until you make her faint with pleasure; when you see her so far gone, then push your—”
    “Mr. Black.”
    He clapped the book shut. “Doctor Exeter.”
    Phaeton perused the nude body of the man standing directly in front of him. Golden skin, lean muscle, impressive phallus even at half-mast. Magnificent. If he wasn’t inclined toward the female sex, he would surely be aroused. Actually, he was aroused.
    “Please be assured, it was my intention to wait until you both achieved satis—”
    “That could take hours, Mr. Black.” The man crossed his arms over a well-defined chest.
    “Hours? Well, that is masterly of you, doctor.”
    Green eyes peered out from under a slash of dark brows. “Esmeralda deserves such adorations.”
    “I couldn’t agree more.” Both gazes narrowed, assessing, reassessing.
    Phaeton sighed. It would be best to sidestep a cock fight. “I came to ask politely, one last time, if you would cooperate with Scotland Yard. You are elusive, Doctor Exeter, but not impossible to find. I could make your life quite miserable.”
    “You have already proven to be annoying.”
    “Well then, how about more of me? I can have the entire force brought down upon you. No matter how many interesting abilities you possess, you also have physical needs that require maintenance—eating, sleeping.” He nodded toward the bedchamber. “Adorations.”
    Phaeton rose from the chair. “If what I surmise is true, this ghastly business has been going on for some time, and you’ve been going it alone. I recommend you consider reinforcements. Would it not be better to coordinate surveillance? Work together, rather than continually get in each other’s way?”
    Phaeton held his breath while the doctor deliberated.
    “Tonight, Mr. Black. Above 91 Savoy Row. Anytime after