One night of being real worked for me, because it was only that—one night. In one night I could have her and then move on.
‘Okay,’ I said, and released her.
Surprised, she stared at me. ‘What are you...?’
‘We’ve been out,’ I said. ‘I took you to dinner and we enjoyed it and now we’re back at my place. And I’m going to offer you a drink.’
The colour ebbed and flowed in her cheeks, and then, clearly understanding what I was going for, she said, ‘Oh... Oh, okay. Uh...yes, I think I would like a drink.’ Her hands flicked to her hair, touching her curls in an adorably self-conscious way, clearly playing along. Which definitely wasn’t Honey.
‘Good.’ I gestured to the couch. ‘Please, sit. What can I get you?’
She took a step then stopped. ‘What are we pretending—?’
‘We’re not pretending,’ I interrupted, holding her gaze so she could see the truth in mine. ‘This is us, Maggie and Trajan, on a date.’ I paused, adding, ‘And, just so you know, I fully intend to seduce you.’
‘I see.’ She looked flustered, which for some reason pleased me a great deal. Then she moved over to the couch, giving me a look from beneath her lashes as she did so. ‘Well, I do like a man who knows what he wants.’
A Honey look. And a very Honey statement—I could tell by the practised sensuality in her voice.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t want Honey tonight, Maggie. I want you.’
She was in the process of sitting down, arranging herself on one end of the long leather couch, and the statement made her pause. ‘Wow,’ she murmured. ‘Was that Honey? I didn’t even realise.’
She sat down, her face still in focus. I got the impression of movement from the rest of her, though, as she settled herself, but the way she was sitting was unclear. There was an angled light on a side table at the other end of the couch, which was good, because I had plans.
Desire pumped hard in my veins as I turned towards the drinks cabinet, orienting myself in the room. I strode over to it and opened it. ‘What will it be?’ I asked, automatically running my fingertips over the neatly shelved bottles, noting their shapes and the feel of the labels.
‘I... Oh...brandy, I think.’
She sounded nervous and I liked that. I wanted to make her nervous. I wanted her off-balance and uncertain. I wanted her to think of me as dangerous. God knew, it would be the last time before I lost the rest of my sight.
And then you won’t be dangerous. You’ll be helpless.
A cold thread tightened in my gut, but I ignored it. No, fuck that. I wasn’t going to be helpless. I’d put all the necessary precautions in place, learned the things I’d needed to learn. I could move around in my apartment as easily as someone sighted, and even after two months Maggie hadn’t guessed that I couldn’t see.
Outside the apartment, I knew every inch of my office and the attached meeting room. And I had Eli. He did most of the necessary face-to-face stuff, all the while helping me cultivate my reputation for inaccessibility to limit contact with people.
It was all working well. No one would be able to guess, and that was just the way I wanted it. I refused to let it limit my existence, refused to let it influence other people’s opinions of me.
I would have control over it; it would not control me.
I grabbed the bottle and then found the brandy balloons. I didn’t need sight for this, since I’d been fixing drinks without vision over all the months we’d been meeting without any issues. I poured, listening to the sound of the liquid going into the glass in order to gauge how much was going in. I could have used a measuring jigger but, as I wouldn’t have if I’d been sighted, I didn’t now.
Glasses poured, I took them both and moved over to the couch where the angled light was. It was sitting on a small table beside the arm of the couch, and I bent, putting both glasses down on the table. Then I sat down, the angled light just above my head. I looked at Maggie, sitting at the other end. The light was more diffuse where she was, her face indistinct.
‘If you want a drink, you’ll have to sit over here,’ I said softly.
She opened her mouth then shut it. I couldn’t see the expression on her face, but I got a sense that I’d flustered her again, which made something raw and demanding turn over inside me.
Yes, I wanted to fluster her. I wanted to set her off-balance. I wanted her unsure and affected by me. For months I’d been forcing our chemistry aside, trying to ignore it, and now I didn’t have to. I wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t there.
I wanted her to feel it.
Slowly she moved, shifting over to where I sat at the other end. The light was much better and her face was clearer; her hair fell over it, momentarily veiling her features, before she pushed the cloud of golden curls back once more. She sat next to me, close enough for me to feel her heat. Certainly close enough to touch, and that was good, because touching was definitely going to be happening.
‘There,’ she said, settling in next to me, touching her hair and then smoothing her dress in nervous movements. ‘Happy now?’
I picked up her brandy glass and held it out to her. ‘Oh, yes. Very happy.’
She took it, the tips of her fingers brushing mine, sending small electric shocks through my entire central nervous system. I was very tempted to snatch the glass from her, put it back on the table and push her down onto the couch before ripping that dress from her body.
But no. This was a date and I wanted to take this slow, seduce her. Lay her across my lap with the light on her, watch her face as I touched her, giving her pleasure as I examined every inch of her body and made her come.
Tonight it would be about her, because if she was going to give me her body then she deserved to have what she wanted too. One night of being real. I could give her that.
She lifted the glass and sipped, her dark eyes studying me from over the rim.
I hoped it hadn’t escaped her notice that we’d been sitting like this two weeks ago when she’d put her hand on my thigh and leaned forward to kiss me.
If she did it again, I wouldn’t let her run. This time I’d grab her wrist and hold her, keep her here with me.
‘Did you enjoy dinner?’ I asked, keeping up with the pretence.
‘Yes. It was delicious.’ She gave me a shy smile, her hand drifting once more to her hair. ‘The company was even better, though.’
Pleasure uncurled in my chest at the genuine warmth in her eyes. ‘I agree.’ I reached out to where a tendril of gold lay across her forehead, pushing it back from her face and then back behind her ear, letting my fingers graze against the soft fragile skin.
Her breath hitched, her dark eyes widening.
I let my hand move gently through all those silky curls to settle on the vulnerable warmth of her nape. Then I took her brandy glass from her, putting it down on the table beside mine.
‘Come here,’ I murmured.
Another soft hitch of breath and then she moved closer. Once she was near, I pulled her into my arms and across my lap, settling her head on my shoulder, her back against the arm of the sofa. She didn’t protest, but her muscles had tightened.
Then I took her chin in one hand and gently tipped her head back even further, lifting that gorgeous face to the light so I could see her.
‘Now,’ I said quietly. ‘Let’s start this date properly.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Magdalen
I SAT IN his lap, his body hard and hot under mine, my heartbeat going into overdrive. All my muscles had tightened and I felt breathless, nerves fluttering in my gut.
So stupid. He was just a man, and it wasn’t as if I was a virgin. I’d been with a lot of men. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been held in someone’s lap before.
Then again, I hadn’t been held this carefully, and I hadn’t had a man tilt my face into th
e light, examining me intently, as if he was memorising every aspect of me.
Trajan’s gaze narrowed as he tilted my head slightly, as if I were a difficult line of text in a book whose meaning he was desperate to understand.
His eyes were so blue. I felt as though I was falling into them.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, my voice shaky.
‘Looking at you.’ He tilted my face the other way, frowning.
I was acutely conscious of his body beneath mine. It felt as though I was lying on sun-warmed rock. His shoulder cushioned my head, his fingers on my jaw firm yet not hard enough to be painful, more like little points of fire against my skin.
‘Why?’ I asked, not sure what he was doing. The way he was examining me made me feel exposed and not a little vulnerable. ‘Surely you’ve got a good look at me already?’
‘Hush.’ His gaze raked over my face. ‘This is part of my seduction technique.’
The trace of dry humour in his voice made the tightness in my muscles ease. I’d thought, when we first met, that he was humourless, but he wasn’t. I’d slowly discovered that dry humour of his over the course of our meetings. It had always delighted me and it did so now.
‘Staring at my face is a seduction technique?’
‘Of course.’ His thumb traced along my jawline. ‘You have the most beautiful skin. It feels like silk. Has anyone ever told you that?’
A shiver chased over me, the tension in my muscles easing even more as I relaxed against him. He was so warm and he smelled so good, of pine and warm earth with a hint of salty sea.
‘No,’ I answered huskily. And they hadn’t. No one had ever looked at me like that either.
‘There are tiny gold threads in your eyes and I think they glow when you’re aroused.’ His beautiful mouth curved. ‘They’re glowing now.’
I sucked in a breath, shivering in his arms, falling into all that blue. I’d never felt this way with a man—not once. Had never lain in a man’s arms and let him look at me with so much intent. It was confronting.
‘You’re trembling,’ he murmured. ‘Am I making you nervous?’
‘Yes. A little.’ There wasn’t any point in hiding my discomfort. He knew. ‘I’m not used to being looked at.’
‘Surely you must be by now?’
‘Not...not as Maggie.’
Gently he turned my head to the side, cocking his head to examine my jaw and the side of my neck. ‘Maggie is beautiful. Maggie is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’
I wanted to tell him that was a lie, but then all the words vanished from my brain as he leaned in, and I felt his breath at the side of my neck, his mouth and nose nuzzling at the soft skin beneath my ear.
I shuddered, my breath catching, the slight contact sending a wave of delicious sensation flooding through me.
‘You smell so fucking sexy,’ he said softly. ‘Orchids on the top, coconut and vanilla underneath.’
I shut my eyes. ‘It’s just some cheap body lotion from the local pharmacy. I should have splashed out—’
‘It’s fucking delicious.’ His mouth brushed down the side of my neck. ‘Just like you.’
I swallowed, heat prickling all over my body, a heavy ache gathering between my thighs. ‘Is this more seduction technique?’ I had to force the words out, going automatically into Honey mode to cover my nerves. ‘If so then you’re—’
‘Quiet.’ Trajan cut me off softly. ‘Just lie still.’
My breathing accelerated. It was rare for me to feel like this, nervous and uncertain and yet turned on at the same time. So turned on. And it made me feel vulnerable. It was always me directing everything and the client who was getting off. It was never the other way round.
I kept my eyes closed, feeling his breath against the side of my neck. ‘It’s never like this,’ I said hoarsely, wanting to explain. ‘It’s never me feeling this and the client in control. I’m not the one usually—’
‘Hush,’ he murmured, one hand keeping my head turned firmly to one side, the other gripping one hip to keep me secured in his lap. ‘You’re not Honey now, remember? It’s just us, Trajan and Maggie on a date. And I’m trying to seduce you. Which, I may add, is proving very difficult because you keep talking.’
I used to talk a lot as a kid, something my grandmother had hated. She’d preferred silence to ‘chatter’, and had made sure I knew it, so I’d spent my childhood biting my lip and then my teenage years second-guessing everything I said, because I didn’t want to annoy people. Until I’d finally found Honey in a fit of rebellion.
Trajan’s gentle reproof should have irritated me, but there was humour in his voice again, and it was warm. I found myself relaxing again, huffing out a laugh.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said huskily. ‘I always talk when I’m nervous.’
‘Really? I didn’t notice at all that first night we met when I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.’ More humour laced his tone.
I gave a mock groan. ‘Oh, God, did I?’
‘Yes, and don’t apologise.’ His fingers traced my collarbone gently. ‘All I want you to do is relax and let me look at you, because you’re beautiful. We only have one night so I want to see every part of you, memorise you.’
The light pressed against my closed lids.
‘Why?’ I asked, even though I hadn’t meant to. ‘What’s so special about me?’
There was a silence and I could feel the tension in his body, though why I had no idea. I could have opened my eyes to look at his face but I didn’t want to. For some reason I felt safer in the dark.
His fingers moved on my skin, stroking lightly over my collarbone. ‘What did that grandmother of yours do to you, sweetheart?’
The question was light, casual, the endearment sending a shiver of pleasure through me, because no one had ever called me sweetheart before. At least, not when I wasn’t being paid.
He’s still paying you, don’t forget.
No, I wasn’t forgetting. But we were being real now, that was the deal. And the way he said it was as if it was something he’d call me if we were seeing each other properly, as if this was an actual date...
I shouldn’t tell him about my childhood. Who wanted to know about that boring crap?
‘I thought I was supposed to be quiet.’ My tone was probably too acidic, but I couldn’t help it.
‘You don’t have to answer. I won’t force you.’ His fingers stroked lightly to the hollow of my throat, as if measuring my pulse, and I felt the warmth of his breath against the side of my neck as he leaned in once more. ‘I just think it’s a tragedy you even have to ask me that question. Especially when there’s so much that’s special about you.’ His mouth burned on the skin beneath my ear as he pressed a kiss there. ‘I wanted you the moment you took my hand that first night, did you know? I thought you were special then and I didn’t even know you. There was such a warmth to you, like there was a light inside you.’
I let out a breath, something catching in my chest. ‘Trajan. I’m not—’
‘You were putting on an act that first night and I could tell you were trying to read me. Trying to be what I wanted you to be. So I gave you nothing back, just to see what you’d do. I don’t think you expected that, did you?’
His lips moved further down, finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. ‘But then you started talking about travel, about how you’d been to Paris, and your voice was full of genuine excitement and wonder. You talked about the Eiffel Tower, about the Louvre, about how amazing they were, and then you asked me questions, gradually drawing me into your enthusiasm.’
He breathed softly over my skin, causing goosebumps to rise, my own breath to catch hard. ‘You were genuinely interested in me. It wasn’t an act—I could sense it. I hadn’t talked to anyone the way I talked to you that night. I hadn’t enjoyed being with anyone the wa
y I enjoyed being with you.’ His fingers stroked my jaw, moving in soft circles. ‘I’m not an easy person to get to know. I’m not an easy person to talk to, but you managed it. You made me smile and I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled.’
There was a note in his voice that sounded a little like pain and it made my throat tighten. Because I remembered that first night. His handsome face had been expressionless, his blue eyes guarded; he wasn’t lying. That night I’d tried to do my usual thing of figuring out what a client wanted from me based on body language, expression and speech. But Trajan had given me nothing but a blank wall.
I’d never encountered anything like it from a client before. Nervousness, yes. And reserve, yes. But nothing to what Trajan had given me. We’d sat in this very room, sipping wine, and I’d started to feel things becoming awkward, which I prided myself on never letting happen. And I’d had to do something. I’d been so flustered by him and my own reaction to him that I’d fallen back into the way I’d used to chatter back when I’d been a kid, going on about a visit I’d made with some client to Paris.
I didn’t mention the client—it was bad form—but I’d found myself going on and on about Paris and how much I’d loved it, because I had. I had never done that in front of a client before, become Maggie when I should have been Honey, and I was sure I was going to disappoint him, because he’d looked away from me, barely making eye contact.
Then, strangely, as I was wittering on about some of the art I’d seen in the Louvre just to fill up the silence, he’d asked me whether the room that held the Mona Lisa was still packed with people. And then he’d asked about the other art there, and whether I’d visited the Pompidou Centre and other places. He’d been there a couple of years earlier and, before I’d known it, we’d been sharing experiences, talking about the places we’d been to and the things we’d seen.
I actually hadn’t been to many places, given that most of my jobs for Strangers were based in New York, but I’d been out of the country a couple of times on all-expenses-paid trips with clients. Paris. London. And once to Singapore.
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 5
