by Lisa Cach
She shook her head. She’d never been a sexually passionate person. Maybe it was time to give up the dream that someday she would be, if only she met the right man. She was sure that she and Andrew could eventually build a satisfactory sexual relationship, and that was really all anyone could ask for, wasn’t it? Everyone knew that passion faded. What mattered was friendship.
“You’re being awfully nice,” Grace said as Declan’s hand moved down her back. “I would have thought you’d be cackling with glee, poking fun at our bumbling.”
“Pretending to be thoughtful and caring is my way of lulling you into a false sense of security. My focus is entirely on getting you into bed.”
She laughed, even as goose bumps rose on her skin and a muscle deep inside her contracted. How could he have this effect on her? Life wasn’t fair. “I would have thought you’d had enough sex with Cyndee last night to hold you.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
“You did sleep with her, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry to say there was a conflict of interest.” He nudged her to straddle the bench, facing away from him. She obeyed, and he put both hands to work on her shoulders, his touch neither too hard nor too soft.
“Whose conflict with which interest?” Grace asked as she relaxed into the massage, feeling strangely safe in his hands even as her body tingled. The fumbling with Andrew was quickly fading from her mind.
“Mine with hers. Or hers with mine. It doesn’t matter, does it?”
It did matter, but she wouldn’t let him know that. “Poor Declan. You’re not having any luck, are you?”
His hands moved down her bare arms and she felt him lean close, his breath warm beside her ear. A shiver went up her nape. “It’s all part of my plan, as is this innocent back rub. All the cheesy pickup manuals for men tell them to touch a woman to get past her defenses.”
Grace’s spine went rigid, reminded so suddenly of the exact same lesson that Sophia had taught her. She pulled away from him and stood. “You’re not going to get past my defenses.”
He crossed his ankle over his knee and held it there, the picture of nonchalance. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t feel the need for defenses with me at all.”
“And where would that leave me?”
He smile was slow and delicious. “In my bed, where I would make you very, very happy, I promise you.”
The offer went through Grace like a caress. She bristled against it, fearing its effect on her. “Does being this cocky usually work on women?”
“No. They think it reeks of lounge lizard.”
His answer surprised a laugh out of her. “Then why would it work on me?”
“Because I already know you want to sleep with me.”
“I do not!”
“Your pride makes it difficult for you to admit it to me, I know.”
“You’re insane,” she spluttered.
“We’re both curious. We’re both horny as hell. So why not go ahead and do it?”
“Sex should mean more than that.”
“Sex can mean more than that. But it doesn’t have to. There’s plenty of joy to be had in the purely physical. Say the word, and we’ll do it.”
“I will never say it.”
His grin turning devilish.
“That sounds like another challenge.”
She showed her teeth in a wicked smile of superiority. “And we know how that turned out last time.”
“If memory serves, I did what I said I could do.”
“Yet you still lost,” Grace pointed out.
“I wouldn’t say that. But if it’s what you believe, then why not take me on again?”
She laughed at the absurdity of it. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot.”
He shook his head. “Come to my room tonight.”
“I won’t do that. It would be like a lamb walking to its own slaughter.
“Afraid you’ll give in?”
Yes! “No. Come to my room instead,” she said without thinking, “and I’ll prove you wrong.”
“You need the security of being on your own turf?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then come to my room, anytime after eleven.”
“I—” she started.
“I’ll be waiting for you.” He slid off the bench and sauntered back toward the house.
Grace snorted and put her hands on her hips.
“Anytime after eleven,” he called back. “I’ll be waiting.”
Cocky bastard. There was no way she was going to his room.
Was there?
“Damn,” she said under her breath. It was going to be a very long night.
CHAPTER
16
Grace came to the end of a Tchaikovsky barcarolle and checked the time: 10:55. She dug through the sheet music in the piano bench and found a familiar piece by Brahms. She sat again and started playing.
She wasn’t going to go to Declan’s room—crazy to even consider it!—but she couldn’t stop herself from checking the clock at the end of every piece of music. She hoped Declan could hear her playing; it was a clear message that she was having nothing to do with his little game.
Although he had cheered her up. She’d forgotten all about CRON meetings and clumsy kisses until nearly an hour later, when Sophia asked her how her outing had gone.
What could she say? It had gone well, as far as meeting her goals was concerned. And she had since persuaded herself that she couldn’t fault Andrew for being an inadequate lover, when she knew that she herself lacked skill in that area. She’d been known to unthinkingly crawl across a boyfriend’s groin before, placing her knee in exactly the wrong spot, and she’d been scolded for not showing more enthusiasm during lovemaking. She didn’t want to think of what a poor blow job she gave.
She shouldn’t expect more of Andrew than she was capable of herself. She’d never seen any study to suggest that men automatically knew more than women about sex. To believe they did was to indulge in cultural stereotypes and double standards about male and female sexual behavior.
And yet …
Declan knew how to touch her. Declan wouldn’t hoist himself off her with a hand planted on her breast. He might even be able to wring from her those cries of ecstasy that so far remained unvoiced in her sexual life.
Then again, Declan was not a potential long-term partner, like Andrew. If only she could take the best of both of them, she’d have herself the perfect man.
She finished the Brahms: 11:10. Time for another rendition of “Makin’ Whoopee.” Ha!
She played the piano for another half hour, expecting at any moment that Declan would appear and make a taunting comment. She’d have a snappy comeback, they’d verbally joust a bit, then he’d end the debate by kissing her and dragging her under the piano for some violent lovemaking.
Eleven forty-five. No Declan.
Grace sighed and shut the piano, feeling bereft and vaguely frustrated. If he was waiting in his room, he’d probably fallen asleep by now. She was the only one suffering, and it was her own fault.
She’d go to her room and prepare for bed, and not let herself wonder if he would come to her. She trudged slowly up the marble stairs, then paused at the top and looked down the hallway to the wing where Declan slept. Dimmed sconces lit the way, creating an inviting path to sexual ruin. Her heart thumped at the thought of following that corridor and opening the door to his room. He’d be naked under a sheet, drowsy, but so happy to see her …
She hesitated, the desires of her body seducing her mind into thinking it would be okay, why not? You’ll enjoy it. It’s just bodies having fun with each other. Harmless and natural.
She forced herself to turn away and head to her room. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her appear at his door. With a sigh of self-congratulatory relief, she opened her door.
“Hello, Grace,” Declan said.
Grace squeaked in surprise. Declan was lying naked on her bed, his
back propped up on pillows, the covers folded down to the foot as if to clear the way for serious mattress action. Several candelabrum were near the bed, casting a golden, adoring glow over Declan’s worthy body. Music played softly on the radio.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Grace demanded.
“Nothing, yet.” He grinned, his teeth Cheshire cat bright.
Grace hurriedly closed the door. “You’re supposed to be in your room.”
“My mistake,” he said cheerily.
“Your mistake, my ass.”
“I’ll trade you my mistake for your ass. It is what I came here for.”
She scowled. “That’s not funny.”
He patted the mattress beside him. “Take off your clothes and come get comfortable.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Only on the thought of what we’re going to do,” he said with a cheesy grin. “I’ve been thinking about it since this afternoon.”
“You go back to your room!”
Declan slid off the bed and walked slowly toward her, sending a wave of sensual panic up her body: she wanted him to stop but also wanted—desperately!—him to keep on coming and do with her what he would.
He stopped toe-to-toe with her and planted his palms on the door to either side of her head, trapping her. She looked into his eyes, her senses filled with his nearness, his warmth, his scent, and most of all the sheer mass of him, so much larger and stronger than herself. A primitive part of her soul silently moaned in pleasure.
Declan slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She watched, wide-eyed, as his face came closer and closer, her whole body tense and poised for flight or fight. His clean, faint masculine scent came off him with the heat of his body, the broadness of his chest and shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and tingling heat flying through her like a flock of startled sparrows.
Declan’s lips met hers, a gentle swoop of a kiss that brushed the surface of her lips and then floated free. She closed her eyes and he kissed her again, and she turned her head to follow his lips as they left her, as if begging him not to leave.
Declan’s lips landed a third time, and stayed. His lips moved on hers, nipping, pulling, sucking, sliding. Bit by bit he deepened the kiss, breaking down her sham of a resistance until she found herself kissing him back, her head straining forward for deeper, harder contact. She parted her lips and his tongue plunged inside, teasing hers with strokes of wet friction.
Her hands rose to Declan’s waist, then slid down to grasp his buttocks, pulling him toward her and feeling his hard erection against her.
Declan’s arms came down, wrapping around her and pulling her away from the wall. Breaking the kiss for only the necessary moment, Declan raised the hem of her knit shirt and jerked it off over her head. In another moment he’d undone her bra and tossed it aside. Grace felt a moment’s alarm, but then his mouth was on hers again, his arms around her, pulling her torso against his. She was lost in her physical reaction to him, her brain shut off.
She didn’t even know he was unzipping her skirt until it fell at her feet, leaving her clad only in her underpants. He maneuvered her slowly toward the bed until they bumped up against it. The mattress touching her warned Grace of what would come next, and a sliver of pride stabbed through her sensual bliss. She wouldn’t let herself be had so easily.
She broke the kiss, pressing her palms against his chest to create some separation. She met his eyes. “I don’t want this.”
His gaze was fierce with sexual tension. “Won’t you say it now?”
This was Declan, not some fantasy male who existed only in her imagination, and she would have to see him in the morning. She shook her head.
“Why won’t you admit it?”
“Because I’m stronger than you, and I want you to know it. If I ask you to sleep with me, then you win.”
His jaw tightened, but her words seemed only to stoke the fire in his eyes. “You will ask me. You’ll demand it.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
She nodded slowly, a delicious frisson running through her body. She knew the challenge she was throwing before him, and how hard it would drive him to seduce her. She wanted him to win but didn’t believe he could. He’d have to overcome every ounce of her self-consciousness, and that was more than any man could ever do.
Declan turned her around and held her in an embrace, her back to his chest. His lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Do you want to prove I’m wrong?” His hand slid slowly down her belly and into her panties.
Grace closed her eyes and leaned back against him, her knees going weak. “I can prove it,” she answered.
He tugged her underpants down until they fell free, the silky fabric pooling on her feet.
Declan’s hands rose up her body to cup her breasts, as his lips found the tender spot at the base of her neck and kissed and teased, his tongue and teeth nipping and rubbing, sending shivers of electric delight over her skin.
He put one knee on the bed to ease her onto it with him, turning her and pressing her back until she lay face-up beneath him. He slid his hands down her arms to her wrists, then raised them above her head, pinning them to the mattress as he kissed her again.
He broke the kiss and raised his head, grinning wickedly at her.
She wondered why until he released her wrists and she became aware of what he’d done.
She was tied to the bed. She craned her neck, trying to see above her head. “Declan, what—”
“I can’t have you touching yourself this time. The only relief you’ll get is from me, when you beg for it.”
“You planned this!” she protested. By craning her head she could just see the padded handcuffs and the tether to which they were affixed. It had all been hidden under the pillows.
“I warned you I’d been thinking about this all day.”
She tugged against the restraints, but they held firm. A shiver went over her, of fear or excitement she wasn’t sure. No one had ever tied her up before. “You’re scaring me,” she said, not sure if it was true.
He stroked the hair back from her face and looked into her eyes. “I won’t hurt you or go against your wishes. You know that.”
She did know that, for almost certain. Truth was, though, she didn’t really know what he was capable of, did she? She hadn’t predicted he would tie her up.
“I won’t hurt you, but I’ll torment you.” He smiled, slow and lazy, and traced his fingertips over one breast, circling in on her nipple and gently squeezing it like a ripe berry. “Just remember that it’s always in your power to put an end to your suffering. You only need a single word.”
“What word?”
“Yes.”
A rush of panic and desire went through her.
“Now where shall I start?” he said, playing with her nipple. “Here? Or maybe you’d rather feel my tongue somewhere else?” His fingers trailed down her body to the juncture of her thighs, and then his hand grazed over her hip.
“Perhaps I should begin where I left off this afternoon, with a massage.” He reached down over the side of the bed, then returned with a small bottle of massage oil. He poured some into his palm and rubbed his hands together, then laid them on her sternum. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
Grace shivered in anticipation, both scared and thrilled. Oh God, he was really going to touch her!
Declan glided his oiled hands over her breasts, releasing the delicate scent of almonds. She watched his face, its expression one of intent absorption as his warm, strong palms slid over her flesh, like a sculptor working in clay. His gaze flicked up to hers, his eyes dark except for the gleam of reflected candlelight.
Embarrassed, Grace closed her eyes and turned her face, tucking it against her arm. Having her eyes closed, though, was almost worse—physical sensations seemed twice as strong without visual distraction. She buried her face deeper into her arm and tried not to enjoy his touch to
o much. He wouldn’t make her say yes!
Declan moved from her chest to her arms and hands, her torso, her legs and feet. He turned her over to do her back and her buttocks, and even to dig his fingers into the base of her skull, tempting her to release all her tension. For several minutes she forgot herself, and time lost meaning as she floated free of the world, forgetting why and where and with whom she was. Even embarrassment disappeared under the soothing, sensual touch of his hands.
He turned her onto her back again, then raised her knees and then spread them apart, making them fall to the sides like an open flower.
Grace’s eyes went wide, all the relaxation jolted out of her. “What are you doing?” she cried, as she tried to close her legs. His hands held them open, making her feel even more exposed and vulnerable.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t want surprises.”
His gaze searched hers, then he slowly released her knees.
She felt an almost overwhelming urge to close them, but his eyes on her were a challenge, asking if she had the courage to leave herself open to him, to play this game they had dared each other to. Her pride gave her strength, and she let her legs lay open in invitation. She would make herself obey, and let him do as he wished.
Declan gave his satyr’s grin, then grabbed a pillow and put it under her head. “I want you to be able to watch me,” he said, and then lay down beside her, his head toward her feet, his body partially propped up on the mattress by an elbow between her legs.
Again he massaged her with the almond oil, working his free hand over her abdomen, her hips, her inner thighs. There was no relaxation for her this time, only a slow building of anticipation and impatience as she waited for his touch to turn from massage to sexual caress. She wanted to groan at him, Get to it!
When he lifted his hand away, Grace made a tiny whimper of disappointment, and then clamped her lips shut at the betraying sound.
His gaze locked with hers, and he lowered his hand to touch her. She turned her head and closed her eyes, feeling the heat of a blush.
Grace’s nerve endings felt as if they weren’t just waiting for his touch, but reaching for it.
