The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

carriage sent to carry her to Georgetown. “Remember, if Braham’s a no-show, I’ll come pick you up.” He leaned in close and whispered, “And if he does show up, and you run out of condoms, I don’t want to hear about it.” His smile segued into a chuckle as he waved good-bye and headed back into the house.

“Stay out of trouble. Please,” she said as he disappeared through the front door.

This was their first separation since arriving in Washington, and leaving him on his own was like leaving a seven-year-old with the car keys. She probably exaggerated slightly when it came to Jack’s penchant for trouble. His infractions had been few, but they were typically monumental when they happened. Like the time he was arrested as part of a biker gang accused of murder. The prosecutor had dismissed charges against Jack after his attorney proved he had only been doing research for a book. But his mug shot and the story were on the front page of the Richmond Times-Dispatch—above the fold. She’d lost a handful of patients over that one. They didn’t want family and friends to know their surgeon was related to a murderer. Yep. Jack was due for a big one. He was a grown man, for God’s sake. Surely, he could avoid getting shot or locked up for the night.

Suddenly, a strange, almost mystical calm came over her. The first order of business was to put Jack and his impulsiveness out of her mind. She snapped her finger. Zap. Not only was she not going to worry about Jack, she wasn’t going to worry about Braham either. She patted her pocket, letting her fingers trace the outline of the sapphire brooch pinned into the fabric. Only two weeks remained in her nineteenth-century adventure, but she wasn’t going to think about it tonight.

The celebrations she’d seen earlier in the day continued, fanning out from Pennsylvania Avenue into side streets and on into Georgetown. Compared to her last visit, when wounded soldiers crowded the streets, this trip was delightful.

When she arrived, the butler showed her to a guest room and invited her to explore the house and gardens. She strolled around the grounds, enjoying the sweet fragrance of alyssum along the path, and spikes of yellow forsythia nodding over the tidy white fence lining the sides of the property. Behind a fast-growing privacy screen of willow trees, she found a tranquil garden with a gently trickling brook. Nestled in a rocky alcove sat a long, narrow bench, and a waterfall fell from the top of the rocks into the stream. Anyone sitting on the cushioned bench reading or meditating would remain dry and shielded from prying eyes by the fall of the water. The bench appeared wide enough for a man to recline on for an afternoon nap, or whatever else he had in mind to do. She rubbed a finger gently across her bottom lip, remembering the touch and feel of Braham’s tongue when he had licked and nibbled there. Had he kissed other women behind the waterfall? And what if he had? She had no claim to virgin lips or virgin other parts. She’d had a life, and so had he.

As dusk approached, she retired to her room for a light meal and a bath. At nine, she dressed for dinner. At eleven, she undressed and slipped on scrubs instead of her chemise, tense with disappointment. Moonlight streamed through the open windows, dimly illuminating the empty bed. She paced to and fro, trying to suppress the urge to worry about him, but it was impossible. The room was quiet, save for the crackling fire and the gentle creak of the wood floor beneath her feet.

She stopped pacing and stared out the window for some time, watching ropy clouds scud across the face of the full moon and thinking. She had a choice, didn’t she? He had promised her time together, and she could either have faith in his promise, faith in him, or she could choose not to. Which one?

She chose faith.

Before climbing into bed, she took two condoms from her bag and placed them on the table nearby. She tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. The table was too far away to reach in a hurry, so she tucked the foil packages under her pillow, where they’d be quickly accessible. Then she crawled up onto the high four-poster and snuggled into the soft, feathered mattress. She composed her mind for sleep, clearing it of worries and concerns, breathing in the scent of the burning logs. Soon she surrendered to the sleep lapping at her consciousness like the tide creeping up a rocky shore.

Vivid and erotic dreams of a man nibbling on her ear and murmuring in Gaelic invaded her soothing sleep. Although she didn’t understand what he said, she understood the meaning. Finally, the nibbling brought her to semiconsciousness. She snuggled against her dream lover, feeling warm and protected. When chest hairs tickled her cheek, she came fully awake.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Braham smoothed her sleep-snarled hair back from her face, one curly strand at a time. “It couldn’t be helped.” He shifted, easing them into a comfortable position with her head in the curve of his shoulder. His fingers traced the nobs of her spine, one bone at a time, from her neck all the way down to her sacrum, massaging her gently. Her thigh pressed against him, and her smaller leg molded to the hard length of his.

“You’re here?” she said in groggy inquiry. It didn’t matter if he was an hour late or a day, he was in her arms now, redolent with the fresh, clean scent of soap. He had stoked the fire, and a log cracked, sending a spray of fiery sparks up the chimney. The firelight filled the room with a warm, golden glow limning his tired but smiling face. “Did you get something to eat?”

“Aye, a bite.” He kissed her forehead and cheeks, chin and lips. “This