The snick of a match striking sandpaper brought his eyes open, and he saw the flare of a wick being lit—she must have taken the candles off the bookcases in the den. Fiona lit three fat white pillars that smelled like vanilla (a gift from Iva) and moved them onto the low square table. Warm, glowing light spilled onto the ottoman next to the couch, setting off the thick curls of her hair in a glowing aura.
She came to stand in front of him, and he remained lounging back against the couch, his arm still resting across the top. Closing his fingers around the leather to keep from grabbing her, Gideon looked up and felt his heart move. She looked so beautiful…earthy yet ethereal at the same time in her scuffed jeans and nimbus of coppery hair.
“Fiona….” This time, it was his voice that shifted roughly, bespeaking his need for her.
“I’m a little nervous,” she confessed, reaching out with two slim white hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever planned a seduction like this before.”
“You’re doing just fine,” he replied, his throat dry. “But I think you should kiss me now.”
She moved forward suddenly, straddling him where he sat on the couch—taking him totally by surprise as her jean-clad thighs embraced him, knees against the back of the sofa…her mouth suddenly pressing into his as her hands slid to cup the corners of his jaw.
“Christ,” he groaned as he went abruptly from famine to feast—just as he had that day she fell into his arms in the closet.
Her mouth demanded from his, fitting boldly to his lips and tearing his breath away. Her weight sank into him—her hands on his shoulders, fingers sliding over the sensitive skin of his neck, and her breasts leaning into his chest. He smoothed his hands down over her back around her rear, pulling her closer, on top of him, imprinting her body into his.
Fiona pulled away, sitting back on his thighs, her legs bent on the sofa on either side of him, and pushed a hand through her wild hair. He was about to protest between the deep dragging breaths she’d caused when she started to slip the buttons loose from his shirt. He fought the urge to shrug out of the crisp, rough cotton on his own and enjoyed the feel of her hands on his bare skin.
The way she sucked in her breath when she touched the firm planes of his pecs told him she was as appreciative of his curves as he was of hers.
Her fingers smoothed over him, light, then heavy, then lightly brushing through the hair that covered his chest. His nerves were singing, and his skin wanted to shift to meet her touch as she explored its texture.
Fiona slid the shirt off his shoulders and he leaned forward to shrug out of it, catching a faceful of thick, musky, coppery hair and the opportunity to taste her neck. She paused as his lips touched the sensitive, silky skin next to her throbbing pulse, tilting her head to one side and catching her breath in an audible sigh of pleasure.
That did it—that small little moan from her ended his restraint, and the next thing either of them knew, they were tumbling off the sofa onto the carpeted floor, lips locked together as somehow their shirts were torn off and her bra unclasped.
Gideon felt the vibration of the steady, driving rock music beneath his knees as he kissed Fiona against the big ottoman, tasting the pair of lips he couldn’t seem to get enough of, kneeling next to her on the floor.
It was an anomaly—the deep, thumping bass chords, the wailing twang of electric guitar, and the scratchy, husky vocals—hard, and fast, and rough…featured in a place where the lights were low and soft and the smell of vanilla gently permeated the room, mingling with the spicy, musky scent of silky Fiona.
The juxtaposition of these two opposites inflamed him, two worlds colliding in his consciousness…and then it all became nothing but a faint awareness as he focused everything on the woman before him.
Grasping her wrists, one in each hand, he drew them up over her head, pulling her to her knees, pushing her so that she splayed on the top of the ottoman. He transferred one wrist to his left hand, freeing him to slide an open palm down her arm, to her torso, and around to hold a perfect breast. He bent to kiss the tight, tempting nipple, reveling in the shudder that coursed through her under his mouth.
Gideon pulled back to look down at her—at the scene before him. His mouth felt cottony, and the beating of his heart leapt out of sync then back into rhythm, faster now, faster than he could remember feeling it before.
She looked like a magnificent goddess—sprawled back on the ottoman—torso bared and golden in the flickering candle light, long fluid arms raised over her head, held there by his taut, dark fingers. Her hair fanned over the beige suede leather furniture, cinnamon-colored spirals cast over his arm, her hands, her face, her shoulders. Her skin glistened like a honey-colored pearl under the burning lights, the faintest smattering of freckles over her shoulders and arms. She looked up at him, lips parted, moist from his own mouth, eyes dazed and half-closed.
He worshipped her—touching, kissing, licking, sucking—feeling her writhe and sigh beneath him. It would only get better, he thought, his head pounding. With a flick of his wrist, he freed her belt from its buckle and yanked her jeans open, still one-handed, still keeping her gently imprisoned there before him.
She was wet and hot and very vocal when he slipped his fingers into her. Gideon had to close his eyes at the wave of need that sliced through him, struggling to keep from losing his weakening control.
She jerked once at the sudden onslaught, then her eyes slid closed and an erotic smile curved her lips as she drew in a long, deep, solid breath, her white neck tensing with pleasure. Then, when he brought her over the edge—easily—she opened her mouth in one soft, puffy sigh, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she shuddered, shifting and arching against him.
Fiona was lost in a haze of sensation—trapped in a place she had no desire to escape. She opened her eyes when her wrists were released, and she looked up into Gideon’s burning gaze. He stared down at her, his face immobile, jaw tight, eyes narrowed, as he worked the rest of his clothes off…then, before she even had the chance—or desire—to move, he recaptured her wrists, one in each hand, splaying them outstretched over the ottoman, and slipped inside her.
The pleasure was so intense, Fiona cried aloud, and he stopped suddenly to look down at her, his eyes focusing on her with instant clarity.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice thick, lifting her head to kiss him. He met her lips, quickly and savagely, then began to move firmly and steadily, then hard enough that the smack of their bodies could be heard over Cobain’s raspy voice. He released her arms in order to slam her hips into him one last time, then held her there just in time, just as he found what he was looking for….what he needed. Intense pleasure rolled through him as she gave the soft cry of her own erotic peak, shuddering against his trembling body.
Before Fiona had begun to return to herself, Gideon slipped his arms around her, hugging her against his solid, hairy chest, and shifted to one side, rolling onto his back on the floor.
The vibrations of the music were more pronounced now, thumping up through him and into her body, which was, itself, still singing from pleasure. She let her weight collapse onto him, felt his arms hold her close, then the adjustment as he reached up and pulled something off the couch to cover her naked back.
His hands, fingers widespread, smoothed up to her shoulders, then down, down her spine, over her rear, and back up. She noticed his breathing slowing and his heart, against her ear, calming. The thick hair on his chest tickled her nose, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was boneless.
“Fiona,” he said in her ear a long while later. It must have been a long while, for the Nirvana CD had long since ended and they were halfway through a jazz disc that had already been in the player. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”
“Because sex complicates things,” she murmured, for the moment not caring that it was true. “Even mind-boggling stuff like that.”
“Mind-boggling?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad you tho
ught so too.”
“Are you saying that wasn’t bad for a first-time seduction?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” He kissed the top of her head and gently moved her aside, helping her to sit up and lean against the side of the sofa. “Can I get you something?” He reached to touch her, sliding a hand along her jaw, his mouth firming as he looked at her. “You are incredibly sexy and beautiful, Fiona. I don’t want this to be a…one-time thing.”
She felt a tear sting in her eye. He was sincere, so heartbreakingly handsome, at that moment, and her lungs swelled to fill her chest. “It won’t be.” And, petrified though she was, she meant it.
Chapter Eleven
Gideon pushed open the door to Nath, Nath & Powell, feeling unusually empty-handed without his laptop and briefcase—which he’d left at the office in his haste the day before. He stepped into the reception area just as Claire appeared from the back, and Mrs. Montgomery, the receptionist, looked up from her desk.
“Is everything all right?” asked the older woman, her eyes concerned.
Gideon frowned, pausing in his route toward the hall leading to his office, just as Gideon Senior came barreling from the back, moving much faster than his grandson had seen him move in years. “Gideon! What happened? Is everything all right? I just saw you pull into your parking place.”
“Yes, everything is fine. Why do you ask?” He looked at the others—Mrs. Montgomery, who looked concerned, Claire, who looked extremely wide-eyed and innocent, and his grandfather, who seemed to be fighting a grin.
“It’s nine-thirty—we were worried about you.”
“I know what time it is,” Gideon replied, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares.
“But you’re over two hours late,” his grandfather continued, rubbing his hands together as if pleased about something.
“Two hours late? The office opens at nine, I didn’t have anything going on—what’s the problem?” He began to edge toward the hall, suddenly desperate to escape to his office.
“You’re always the first one here,” Mrs. Montgomery said earnestly. “Seven o’clock, sure as the sun rises, you’re here. We were afraid something had happened to you!”
Gideon began to feel even more uncomfortable. “I decide to come in late one day and you automatically assume something’s wrong?”
“I even tried to call you on your cell phone to see if you were all right, but all I got was voice mail,” his grandfather added, watching him closely.
Gideon’s neck heated. “I—uh—forgot to charge it overnight.”
That wasn’t the only thing he’d forgotten in the whirlwind of lust and emotion last evening. Thank God Fiona explained later—after he’d re-gathered his brain and put some sense back into it—that she was on the pill, or his forgetting the condom would really have been a problem.
Gideon shook his head, stepping away from the group. That was so unlike him—he was always prepared, always thinking ahead.
“—was just getting ready to come over and check on you,” Gideon Senior was saying.
Gideon jerked to look at him, suddenly immensely grateful that Fiona had hustled him out the door so she could get to her shop before he coaxed her back to bed again. Having his grandfather show up and finding Fiona there would only open a huge can of worms. No, a basket of rattlesnakes would be more like it.
Was that a damn twinkle in the old man’s eyes?
“Why didn’t you just call me on the land line?” he asked, his voice short and annoyed. He managed a few more steps before his grandfather replied.
“I tried, but no one answered.”
The flush rose up Gideon’s neck and over the back of his skull. He must have called while they were in the shower. The heat intensified as he remembered the short exchange afterward with Fiona, and he had to firm his lips in order to keep from grinning like a schoolboy.
She’d stepped out of the shower, her hair a mass of sexy, wet zigzags plastered to her head and neck. A smile quirked her face when she caught his reflection in the mirror. “Somehow I pictured you as a Norelco man.”
Gideon allowed a grin to curve his lips, taking care not to crinkle the skin he was shaving. “No, I’ve always been a blade man.” He smoothed his fingers and thumb over his chin. “Much closer shave.”
Fiona wrapped her towel closer around her, and stepped over to touch his chin. “Mmm. Yes, I see what you mean.” Her hand slid from his chin down to the damp mat of hair on his chest, sending a renewed wave of heat through him.
He pulled her closer and her other hand came up to wrap around his neck. The thick towel slipped away, crumpling to the floor, and suddenly, they were skin to skin.
Something his grandfather was saying forced Gideon’s attention back to the matter at hand.
“—skeleton in the closet.”
“What? How did you know about that?”
The older man crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Not too difficult when it was on the six o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, and early morning news. Not to mention all over Yahoo! and MSNBC.com. Weren’t you watching?”
That did it. Gideon tossed a last annoyed, faintly embarrassed glare at his grandfather and stalked off to his office. He thought for sure he heard a snort of laughter just before he slammed his door.
He sat at his desk, turning to the credenza behind him to flip on the laptop someone had had the wherewithal to turn off yesterday. The computer sizzled and hummed as it booted up, and Gideon moved back to the stack of files on his desk that had to be attended to.
He opened the first beige file folder and began to peruse the contract, looking for anything that might be a problem for his client.
What a night.
The thought popped into his head, right in the middle of a clause about indemnification, and he smiled. Actually, it was more of a goofy grin than a smile.
The words on the page in front of him faded away as he sat there, smirking like a fool, remembering…. It was only the chime on his computer indicating that he had email that pulled him back into the present.
Gideon shook his head and closed the file folder. He could look at that later. He spun in his chair to face the laptop and began to work his away through the programs to open his email.
He got through the first three messages, memories and sensations from sharing his bed with Fiona hovering in another layer of his consciousness. Then he remembered what she’d said about his drawings.
The warmth curling in his middle expanded, seeping up into his throat and heating his face—like he was a high school kid who’d just made the honor roll and was receiving kudos from the sexiest teacher at school.
She liked them.
She loved them.
She wanted him to sell them.
His thoughts plummeted. There was no way he was going down that path. It was certain to lead to trouble. He’d lose focus at the office, he’d spend all his time drawing, sleeping, drinking—trying to find that combination that would give him his Big Break, his Breakout—wealth and fame….
Foolish man. He let his forehead sink into his palm.
He wasn’t his father…but he could be. Very easily.
There was no chance of that. He wouldn’t do that to himself, or to his grandfather. He had to stay on the straight and narrow—work hard, be successful, find a woman to marry—maybe—in five years or so….
But his art.
“It has nothing to do with…Us.”
He’d spoken aloud, and without meaning to, he’d capitalized them, making it official. That, at least, he had no qualms about—no qualms whatsoever.
Damn. He wanted to see her again—tonight—five-year plan or no.
~*~
What if he wanted to see her again? Soon?
Fiona dragged a hand through her hair, yanking mercilessly through the thick curls. She sat at her desk in the middle of Charmed Antiquity, examining—or, rather, trying to keep her mind on examining—some bills of sale from the open hous
e.
She pushed away the warm, mellow feeling that crept over her when she thought about lying in bed next to Gideon, touching his smooth, sweaty skin after making love with him. This was so very unlike her—to dwell on the memory, to think of nothing but a man. Her mother would be so displeased. Frowning, Fiona drummed her fingers on the glass-topped desk and glanced up at Dylan, who was humming something perky and irritating.
He flicked a lambs wool duster over the top of a buffet, then whisked it down a corner étagère, barely touching the shelves and certainly not disturbing any dust that might have collected there. Fiona sighed, glad to have some distraction from her terrifying thoughts, and pulled to her feet from behind the desk. An expert on priceless furnishings, yes, he was. An adequate shop-cleaner he was not.
The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) Page 15
