by Tina Donahue
She’d hit a nerve and hadn’t a clue why. The change in his manner from playful to sarcastic, almost wounded, touched her. No matter his lineage or vast wealth, someone over there must have hurt him badly. A woman?
Who else?
Probably someone his family hadn’t liked and somehow forced him to break ties with.
Catherine wondered why Alexa hadn’t said anything about that. Maybe she didn’t know. If she had, she wouldn’t have considered Tim shallow or arrogant. A world of pain flickered across his face before he pushed it away and became the man Alexa had warned her about…almost too self-assured, impenetrable.
Hungry to know the real Tim Bellamy, an injured soul beneath his effortless charm, Catherine rested her hand on his.
His face colored with what looked to be embarrassment. He searched the room. For the server? Another drink? Fortification against his feelings?
Catherine didn’t want him anesthetized. Suddenly…heedlessly…she needed him vulnerable to her alone, forgetting that other woman, seeing only her. “Have you eaten?” she asked.
He studied her. A measure of surprise at her concern and a great deal of feral heat transformed his expression, replacing his previous gloom. “No. You?”
“I will now.” She went around him, deliberately brushing his arm, and headed for the buffet. Even though it was foolish of her to want it, she hoped he’d follow.
He did.
Inwardly, Catherine smiled at his continued pursuit of her, eager for them to flirt again. She’d had so few chances to simply be a woman guided by her heart and reckless desire, rather than seeking momentary pleasure and the money she had to earn.
Leaving her wineglass on a side table, she went to the appetizers and selected the smoked trout terrine with apple. Turning to Tim, she murmured, “Open up.”
On her soft directive, she slipped her free hand beneath his chin and brought the treat to his mouth. Playfully, she ran the food across his lips.
He stared as though she were the hors d’oeuvres, what he really wanted to taste and enjoy. Her body softened beneath his intense scrutiny. The pleasantly toasty room seemed ungodly hot now, what little she wore restrictive.
Tim wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his hand warm, his strength gentle. Because they were in public? Damn right. She sensed he’d be demanding behind closed doors, pinning her with his weight. His mouth, hands, cock taking what he wanted, insisting upon all she could give while he indulged, losing control.
Her belly fluttered. It took all of her strength not to whimper.
He accepted the food she offered, chewing slowly, his attention never leaving her. Other attendees milled about. A plump older woman draped in yards of wine-colored silk bumped into him as she passed.
“Oh excuse me,” she said.
Tim didn’t acknowledge her apology, not seeming to notice she existed. He brought Catherine’s hand to his lips and licked a trace of the pate from her thumb and forefinger.
She pushed back a moan of delight at his tongue, so deliciously wet and hot. Warmth pooled in her pussy, sending moisture to her cunt, dampening it even more. She sensed those soft folds were puffy with arousal, eager to have him inside of her. As deep as a man could go.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his pitch resonant, rumbling. “Now you.”
Damn, he was sexy. “Now me what?”
Holding onto her wrist, he answered by bringing one of the dainty French pastries to her mouth. “Don’t make me wait.”
Catherine smiled at his teasing command. Defiant, she took her time, running her tongue over the edge of the delicate crust and his thumb, liking the taste and feel of his skin the best.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow.
“Mmmm.” She inhaled deeply, sighing out her words, “So good.”
Tim pressed his cheek to hers, his skin hot, bristly, and whispered, “The pastry or me?”
Did he even have to ask? She thought not, but figured he wanted proof of her appetite for him. Which she’d definitely give, in time.
“I’m not certain,” she teased.
He eased back and regarded her.
With her tongue, Catherine coaxed the pastry into her mouth. The caviar and cream cheese filling was delightful, pulling a moan from her. However, it didn’t come near to sating her intolerable hunger.
“I think I need another taste.” She licked the length of his thumb, then drew it into her mouth and sucked gently.
Tim’s lids slipped down, his lips parted. If the conservatives noticed what he and she were doing to each other, they didn’t bitch or try to stop it. As far as the liberals were concerned…they were totally disinterested. To the far left, a young man had cornered a pretty woman who looked to be in her thirties, his mouth on her ear, whispering something that made her smile. Broken-hearted Freddie was still gazing at the male server with naked longing. Everyone else, presumably moderates, was eating, laughing, arguing, lost in their own worlds.
Never had Catherine wanted to be a part of any man’s as she did Tim’s, if only for tonight. Like Cinderella, she’d eventually have to leave, never to see him again. A stab of frustration and sorrow urged her to flee, to get the inevitable over with.
She swirled her tongue around his thumb one final time, then released him gently. “You,” she said.
He didn’t ask what she was talking about. His satisfied smile confirmed that he knew she was saying he tasted the best. “You look as though you want more.”
She did. “Do I?”
His grin widened. He fed her crostini and blue cheese, followed by a chocolate truffle stuffed with coconut and rolled in crushed almonds.
Swallowing the savory confection, she held up her hand. “Enough. I’m neglecting you.”
Tim dropped the frosted grape on the plate. Catherine licked sugar from his fingers. Gently, he tugged her into him, her arm touching his chest. “You won’t be,” he murmured.
She slanted her face to his, her pulse accelerating at the sin in his eyes.
“You still hungry?” he asked.
She shouldn’t be. “More than I’ve been in a very long time.”
His pleased smile carved a dimple in his right cheek. Again, Catherine noticed his pierced lobe. What had he been like when he’d worn an earring? Boyishly eager, his hair long, perhaps worn to his shoulders? His lovemaking unskilled, yet filled with a vibrancy few women could resist?
For Catherine, passion mattered so much more than technique. Having a man fall to his knees before her, worshipping the woman she was, not the woman he expected her to be, was the greatest gift of all.
Tim laced his fingers through hers. A small intimacy and measure of possessiveness that made her dizzy.
“What do you like to eat, Catherine?”
Now there was a loaded question that would take her hours to demonstrate, on her knees, and shouldn’t even be addressed. She was here working as much as Tim was supposed to be. Once more, Catherine reminded herself that they shouldn’t have met. Shouldn’t be speaking. No way could this go further.
Tim lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her answer, expecting it.
“I’m open for anything,” she breathed. “Surprise me.”
He escorted her from the room. The foyer, filled with partygoers a few minutes ago, was empty now. She expected Tim to lead her upstairs to one of those countless closed doors, the bedrooms beyond.
With his hand on the small of her back, his fingers touching her naked skin, he hurried Catherine past the steps and down a side hall. There, he took her hand once more.
“Wait,” she said.
He did, looking over.
Wanting to play with him, she asked, “You’re not taking me to the kitchen, are you? When you asked if I was still hungry and I answered—well, you know what I said—I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant.” He rested his forehead against hers and cupped her breast in his free hand, his thumb teasing her nipple, his breath catching. No doubt be
cause she hadn’t worn a bra.
“Exactly what you meant,” he added on a strained sigh.
Catherine sagged into him. “Then what are you waiting for?”
At her challenge, he stopped stroking her areola and reached around, smacking her ass playfully. “You better behave.”
“Oh yeah?” She snuggled into him, rubbing her mound against his thick erection. Good god, he was aroused, and from the feel of it, really hung. “And what if I’m bad?”
He licked her lobe, above her earring, then nipped it gently. On her quiet gasp, Tim wrapped his arm around her waist, not allowing her any freedom. “You enjoy BDSM?”
She’d never tried it. Not even with her clients who would have probably added thousands to her fee for the kink. She’d always considered bondage and discipline the game of masochists in need of a good shrink. However, with Tim, the idea not only intrigued, it enticed. Weird…then again, maybe not. Being with a man she really liked, one she wanted, made all kinds of foreplay reasonable, downright fun.
She pressed her mouth to his throat and suckled his skin, faintly salty, smelling of his cologne and musk.
He inhaled sharply. Lucky guy. Despite her repeated attempts, Catherine still couldn’t pull in enough air. In answer to his question, she whispered, “Like I said, surprise me.”
On a subdued growl, Tim pulled her into him, his desire clearly tested, his strength brutal, determined. He wasn’t about to let her go.
She gripped his arms, needing his support to stand and to confine herself further.
The sound he made, more animal than human, said he liked that. Brushing his mouth over hers, he angled his head for the greatest penetration and slipped his tongue between her lips.
God. His cheeks and chin were wonderfully rough, his lips unbearably soft.
There was no tentative exploration. Simply a man who knew what he wanted. For the moment, she was that woman. Whimpering in pleasure, Catherine suckled his tongue, coaxing it deeper inside her mouth, offering herself as she never had with her clients. With them, she’d always orchestrated the action, insisting upon it.
With Tim, she surrendered.
Surprisingly, that made him less greedy, more giving. His kiss became tender, telling Catherine he cared about her response. She gave it, swirling her tongue around his, running her fingers through his hair, mussing it finally, wanting to see him as he looked when he woke in the morning.
The thought of spending the night with him, going out for breakfast, enjoying the day together, thrilled as few things had. No surprise, given that it was a foolish dream she had no right to expect. All they had together was this moment.
She cupped his face, kissing him as though there was no tomorrow, because for them there wasn’t.
His passion flared in response to hers. They necked greedily, noisily for a few more minutes. Not nearly long enough.
Breathing hard, he took her hand and hurried down the hall past a series of closed doors, his strides long. He seemed to forget she was shorter and wearing heels. Or maybe he wanted to keep testing the depth of her desire.
Catherine aimed to prove it. From the moment she’d learned about Tim, he’d filled her most wanton fantasies. Whether indulging in them was smart or not wasn’t her most pressing concern at the moment. She was too far gone for that. Edgy, she kept looking behind them, wondering if that guy with the nasty frown might be watching, following, prepared to stop what would surely happen…what she just had to have.
To her relief, he wasn’t in the hall ready to bring his wrath down on them. Nor was anyone else around. A series of richly patterned Persian rugs muffled her footfalls and Tim’s, even as ornate wall mirrors recorded their journey through this hall and then the next and the next. Her hair was as tousled as his, their complexions flushed, her purse bumping against her leg with each quick step. Leaves of countless plants, all lushly green, fluttered as they passed. Despite their distance from the grand reception hall, Catherine caught the piano’s faint melody, a holiday tune this time.
Nearly winded, she squeezed Tim’s hand. “Do you know where you’re going?” Crap, were they walking in circles? Was he lost?
“Yep.”
“Yep what? You’re lost?”
“Hell no.” He looked over and offered a wolfish grin that gave her another glimpse of his dimple. “Been here before.”
Oh. And that meant he’d fucked in this place previously with another woman?
What else, fool? He’s not a freaking monk.
She recalled what Alexa had said about Tim’s one night with her, Hunt and David. A foursome certainly wasn’t for someone who was bashful about sex. So how much had he enjoyed Alexa?
Without warning, Catherine’s skin went cold, then hot. The pieces began to fall into place and she didn’t like what they pictured. Him craving Alexa so much he’d been pissed when Hunt made his claim. Was that why Tim continued to be coolish to her? It wasn’t because of what she did for a living, but because he’d coveted Alexa for his own?
Hell.
“What are you doing?” Tim whispered.
She looked at him and shook her head, not understanding his question. “Nothing.”
“I know.” He spoke quietly. “Why’d you stop?”
Catherine hadn’t realized she had. She debated whether to keep this from going too far with her getting hurt. It wasn’t like her to put so much hope into a man, to behave so impulsively. She’d seen what romance and love did to the girls she’d grown up with. They’d sunk deeper into poverty, saddled with children they had no idea how to mother and no man around to help.
Not for her. Never for her.
“Hey.” Tim turned and cupped her chin in his hand. “What’s wrong?”
Everything, dammit. He smelled too good, his touch was too gentle, his expression as needy as she felt, his kiss way past skilled. Again, it seemed so right, necessary. So what if he’d liked Alexa and hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her. Right now, he was here.
“You were walking too fast,” she lied. “I was winded.”
“Sorry.” He pressed his cheek to hers. She tugged on his shirt’s stud. “How many miles before we get there?”
He chuckled. “Just a few more yards.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his shirt, keeping him from turning away. “Where is there?” She whispered, “Are we going to the maid’s quarters?”
He spoke as quietly as she had. “Master bedroom.” He brought her to it.
It must have been built for King Kong. The beveled ceilings were possibly thirty feet high, the area most likely two thousand square feet. Catherine gaped at the cherry wood sleigh bed, large enough to fit four adult males easily, done up in a raw silk comforter of burnished gold with slashes of bronze. Muted tapestries hung on the tall walls. Sheer taupe drapes covered the windows, not entirely hiding the gentle snowfall outside.
On the floor there were more Persian rugs, these more colorful than the ones in the rest of the mansion. Tiffany lamps—no doubt the real deal, not some knockoff from a shopping channel—graced each Queen Anne nightstand. The lamps’ brass bases were fashioned to look as though vines crept up them. The shades, designed like petals opening to the sun, boasted a kaleidoscope of colors. Vivid green, red, blue, yellow, purple.
To the left stood a massive wardrobe that would easily hold every garment she’d ever owned. Beyond it was a beige marble fireplace with a series of photos atop the mantle, all of them yellowed and dated. The owner’s ancestors? To the right was a Queen Anne-style dressing table with a large oval mirror. Rose-shaped bulbs graced the glass’s contours, ready to illuminate the woman who sat on the beige leather stool. Lined up on one side of the table were perfume bottles. Facial products were on the other end. Leather wing chairs in a deep liver color completed the furniture. Despite the size of the bed and the number of other furnishings, the room was so spacious, it looked relatively empty.
Tim closed the door. Without the hall light, Catherine had to squint to see hi
m. “Aren’t you going to turn on the lamps?” Wasn’t he going to turn the lock?
“Nope.” He took her hand once more and led her past the bed to a tall door she hadn’t noticed. Once opened, he reached around the side of the jamb and flicked a switch. “Go on,” he coaxed.
Catherine couldn’t move. Before her was the largest closet she’d ever seen, three times the size of her studio apartment. Circular recessed lights and what appeared to be an antique chandelier lit it. The space smelled of cedar and wool, the scents wonderfully male, cozy. To one side were men’s clothes, enough suits and casual wear to fill a small department store. Across from it were gowns in a rainbow of colors, politically incorrect furs, jeans and pants in every possible shade, blouses, coats, shoes. My god, she hadn’t realized that many high heels and boots existed.
Amazing, but hardly the best part. In the center of the area stood a long table, crafted of the same cherry wood as the bedroom furniture. For soiled clothing? To make love? Beside it stood a cheval mirror. No doubt for the lady of the house to check out her outfit or for a couple to watch themselves getting down and dirty.
From behind, Catherine heard a small thunk, the kind made when wood hits wood. Tim had closed the door.
She pulled her attention from the table to focus on him. Several locks of hair dangled over his forehead, making him look oddly innocent, while his approach was downright assured.
“Why in here? Why not out there?” she asked, gesturing in the bedroom’s direction.
He captured her wrist and brushed his lips over it, then pressed his mouth to her palm. Such an enchanting gesture, Catherine couldn’t help but make a sound like a lovesick teen.
Straightening, Tim ran his finger down one of the delicate straps that held up her gown. She trembled. He grinned. “In here, we’ll be alone.”
She ran her fingers down his shirt, touching the studs. “That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t we be alone out there too?”
“It’s very popular.”
He kissed her before she could ask anything else, fondling her breast, squeezing her ass. Catherine ran her hand back up his chest, over his shoulder, then down to his pants and fly, wanting to touch every part of him, frustrated she couldn’t do so all at once. They turned in uneven circles as they simultaneously kissed and tugged at each other’s clothing, bumping into the table, the mirror, clothes.
