Desire Me Now

by Tiffany Clare

  “If you recall, you thought I would enjoy the coffee too,” she teased.

  “Then I ask you to trust me once more. I endeavor not to steer you wrong again.”

  She tipped the glass against her lips ever so slightly. The liquid that slipped past her lips was more chilled than she expected and stronger than she anticipated, but it glided easily over her tongue, a little sweet and a little tart all at once.

  Lowering the glass, she noticed that Mr. Riley was focused on her lips. When he leaned closer, she worried that he planned to kiss her in front of all the people in the café.

  She cleared her throat. “Why did you break off with Victoria?”

  His eyes snapped up to hers. “We cannot make each other happy.”

  She didn’t mention that they looked quite happy talking and walking together earlier tonight. That would make her seem like an old jealous shrew. Instead of saying anything more, she took another sip of her drink. This time she was expecting the strong flavor and took a bigger swallow than she probably should have. She laughed a little at her stupidity, and some of the absinthe dribbled between her lips and the glass. She set the glass down and looked for a cloth to wipe it away.

  “Do not worry,” Mr. Riley said.

  She looked at him for a moment, panic causing her heart to race and pump blood furiously through her veins. He couldn’t mean to act rashly in a room filled with people she didn’t know but who obviously knew him. Before she could swipe the liquid away herself, his hand reached up, his thumb catching the drop of liquid from her chin, and then settling against the middle of her lip, sweeping back and forth.

  Her lips parted, and an anxious breath rushed out.

  Though it felt like an eternity and that they would be caught for their open indiscretion, his touching her was but a stolen second of time. His warmth was done before she knew it, as though time had only suspended the moment for them, and no one else had been privy to the intimacy that had passed between them.

  When he pulled his thumb away, he sucked it into his mouth, making the encounter more intimate.

  Looking back at her glass, she realized she had drunk more than half the liquid. Come to think of it, she was feeling a little lightheaded, though she attributed that to Mr. Riley’s close proximity, which was too close and too far away all at the same time.

  Mr. Riley paid her no mind for a moment, giving her time to think about his actions, about her willingness to accept them without thought of what it would mean for her future. He’d told her that he’d have her in the end, but she hadn’t taken into consideration the true weight of those words.

  Before she knew it, Mr. Riley was preparing a second glass of absinthe. Her mind whirled in so many directions that she was too afraid to say anything—too worried she’d say the wrong thing. But she was gathering up the courage to find out what he wanted from her.

  “Do you mean to make me your mistress tonight?” She frowned at herself. That hadn’t been what she’d meant to ask, and she was thankful he was at a loss on how to respond. Unable to look at him, she spun her glass by the base on the table.

  His fingers lightly pinched the edge of her chin and turned her head so she was forced to face him with her accusations, though why call them that? She wanted exactly that, didn’t she?

  “I have told you that you will come to me of your own free will. You will not be my mistress. I want more than a bed partner from you.”

  “What else is there, where men are concerned?” Wasn’t that what her brother’s friends, and then the man her brother had promised her to had thought? That she was only good for one thing. That lying on her back for a man was the exact path she was trying to avoid.

  “I ran away from home because my brother was unkind and cruel at every turn.” She left out the part about her being sold to another man to pay off her brother’s debts, as that didn’t have any bearing on this conversation.

  “I will never force you to do anything. But Amelia . . . ” Her name caught her attention, and his eyes stared into hers once again. “You want this. Stop looking for reasons to deny your desires.” His finger traced along the inside of her wrist.

  She swallowed her denial. It would have been a lie, and of all people she didn’t want to lie to, Mr. Riley topped that list.

  “It is so easy for a man to say he will take something when he wants it. When a woman takes what she wants, it often is at the cost of her reputation, her worth.”

  “You’re confusing me with the men your brother failed to keep away from you.”

  “I could never mistake you, Mr. Riley.” His previous comment gave her pause, as she realized what he’d said. “How did you know his friends were a problem?”

  “You just confirmed my suspicions.”

  Drat. That had to be the effects of the absinthe. “Have I ever given you reason to believe I was running from him?”

  “I suspected you were running from something other than your last employer when we met. You were too calm and collected about having been subjected to Sir Ian’s abuse,” he said matter-of-factly. “I would have expected histrionics, at the very least. You remained defiant in the name of self-preservation. Only a woman used to that kind of treatment would act as you did.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Do you know a lot of women who have been in the same type of predicament?”

  “Too many.” The tone of his voice was dark, almost as if it was filled with pain. She wanted him to elaborate but didn’t know how to ask that of him.

  To lighten the mood, she said, “This might seem silly, but I never feared you. Not from the first moment we met. You’re a good man. Or at least you have been nothing but kind to everyone who works for you.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat that said he disagreed with her assessment.

  “Did you only help me because you saw something you wanted? Saw something you could have if you did one small favor for a woman down on her luck?”

  His face was right in front hers, his mouth scant inches from touching her mouth. She should pull back but couldn’t find the strength to continually refuse him.

  “You describe exactly how I view my work, my acquisitions in properties and businesses alike,” he said. “I take what I want without regard to anyone else. Sometimes my intentions are not pure, nor to the benefit of others. What you do not have is an accurate picture of what I see in you.”

  “Then explain it to me,” she said, frustrated that she hadn’t guarded her tongue. She pulled away from him and drank down half the contents of her glass. She would probably regret how much she’d imbibed come morning and how much her tongue had slipped when it should have stayed. But Mr. Riley did not seem angry with her, more curious about what she thought—or at least, that was the impression she got, being slightly tipsy from the alcohol.

  “I always find a way to get what I want, Miss Grant. Right now, that just so happens to be you. Do not mistake me for the gentlemen you grew up around. I’m nothing of the sort. I claim no good manners, but I will not hurt you as they did.”

  “How do you know they were gentlemen?”

  “Pigs, the lot of them from your comment about your brother. But I know you come from a privileged background. I see it in your poise, in your every movement, in the way you talk. I have always known.”

  “Oh,” she said. She hadn’t thought she was so easy to read. At least her tongue wasn’t so loose as to reveal her identity. Though she could admit it was only a matter of time before she would have to reveal that part of herself.

  Mr. Riley’s large hands wrapped around hers where they were folded in her lap. He brought one up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles and then each of her fingers. Before he let that hand go he kissed the inside of her wrist, the action possessive.

  “Trust me to take care of you, Amelia. I will not hurt you.”

  “That does not negate the fact that you want exactly what my brother’s friends wanted. I will not sell myself to the highest bidder. I came to
London to escape that fate.” My, she was bold while drinking absinthe, but for the first time in so long, she didn’t want to take the words back. They were the truth, and it felt good to speak her mind. “Why should I stumble and fall after making it this far?” she added.

  “Because I will catch you,” he said without pause.

  His words melted some of her resolve. She had wanted to barrage him with questions until she understood everything that made him tick. Until she understood why he needed to possess her so badly when there were surely dozens of other women willing and ready to fall at his feet to do his every bidding.

  It amazed her that she even thought that, but she’d watched everyone around her tonight. Almost half the women at the restaurant seemed smitten with Mr. Riley, as though they wanted to catch his eye so that he would choose them. But she, plain old Amelia, had been the one on his arm.

  Mr. Riley stood from the bench and gave her his hand. “We should enjoy the music. Dance with me.”

  “My ankle—”

  “I’ll keep you steady. Leave your cane here. This will be our table for as long as you wish to stay.”

  After all her denials and speeches tonight, she still took his hand. She could admit that she liked feeling lost in his arms. Just because she liked it didn’t mean she was entitled to have it. But when they stood there on the small dance floor, it was as if there was no one in that room but her, Mr. Riley, and the piano player.

  The song changed to something less lively and more ballad-like. Mr. Riley didn’t hesitate to spin her around, making her use her good foot, before his hand pressed against her back and brought her body up tight along his.

  “Put your foot with the bad ankle over my shoe.”

  “I couldn’t.” She started to pull away, but Mr. Riley only tightened the grip he had on her. “It will look indecent,” she said.

  “And here I thought the absinthe had loosened your inhibitions enough that you would trust me for at least one night.”

  “I do trust you,” she said, meaning it.

  “Then do as I ask.”

  Despite all her points about men being made equal, she realized Mr. Riley stood alone in her opinion. Instead of squabbling further, she set her foot atop his, and he immediately started moving them around the floor as though they’d done this a thousand times. She laughed gaily, feeling like she was flying in his arms. They spun around, moving between and around other dancers with ease.

  She had wanted to be lost in his arms, and that was exactly what she got. His hand was pressed tightly to her back above the small bustle and fall of her dress; his other held her hand like you would for a waltz. Their pelvises were crushed together, though all she could feel of him was his strong thighs as he moved through the steps of some unknown dance. Her chest was crushed against his as well, and while the rules for dancing were to keep space between partners, she liked how close he held her. Relished it, actually.

  When the song ended and a livelier piece was played, Mr. Riley didn’t stop; he merely adjusted his grip, held her tighter, and spun her around faster. Both her feet were atop his at this point, for she couldn’t keep up with the quick steps of the piece the piano player pounded out.

  She laughed halfway through the set, not remembering the last time she’d been able to just let go and enjoy herself as she did now. It was exhilarating. Freeing. It was a perfect night, and one she would never forget.

  Gasping for air and from their laughter, Mr. Riley spun her around on her good foot and set them in the direction of their table. She couldn’t say why she was out of breath, as he’d done most of the work and all she’d had to do was hold on.

  “Wherever did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, still breathless as she slid back into her seat. One of her curls had fallen, and she had to pin it back in place. She was afraid to see herself in a mirror right now, but she imagined her cheeks were flushed and her hair a mess of curls popping out everywhere. She had to fan herself to cool her blood.

  “My mother taught me to dance, if you can believe it,” Mr. Riley answered. “And the girls who worked with her.”

  “What did your mother do?”

  Someone had set another glass with ice on the table in their absence. Mr. Riley fished a few out with tongs and dropped them in her drink as he slid it toward her.

  Amelia spun the glass around, letting the ice chill her drink. “Why did you not order one?”

  “Because I prefer whisky.” He leaned in close to her, not that anyone could hear their conversation with all the noise, celebrations, and good times going on around them. “Besides I would rather taste it from your lips.”

  She stared at the swirling contents of her glass. “I do not know how I’m supposed to respond when you say such things.”

  “Then act instead. Do what I know you want to do.”

  She looked at him sharply. “You ask impossible things of me.”

  “They are only impossible if you allow them to be.”

  Mr. Riley leaned back in his seat, one hand raised and swirling his whisky round and round in the tumbler as he watched her puzzle out his words. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be stunned and surprised, or if she was supposed to take on his challenge.

  She merely lifted her glass to her lips and drank the last half of her absinthe straight down. A third glass was produced and prepared for her. It all happened so fast that before she knew it, she had drunk it all down, and Mr. Riley was pulling her to her feet. She felt quite spry, as though she were floating. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the music. “The piano player is quite good.”

  Though she expected no answer, Mr. Riley said, “He is. Came over from New Orleans, in America, and brings a special flare of that Creole music with him.”

  They were on the dance floor again, her bad foot atop his, the other moving along with him. “How do you know the piano player?”

  “He was a stowaway in one of my shipments. The captain wanted to toss him out to sea and feed him to the sharks. When I saw the look in his eyes, I knew all he wanted was to find a place to build a new life.”

  Yet another admirable thing he’d done to endear him to her further. Did this man have any faults? Not only was he the most handsome man she’d ever met, but he had riches she could barely comprehend as she dug further into his business. Most important, he had a heart of gold for those struck down by bad luck and poor circumstances. It made her feel so . . . unaccomplished.

  “Do you have ties to this establishment too?” Amelia asked.

  “Are you asking if I own it?”

  She nodded.

  “I do not. But the owners are friends, of sorts.”

  “Of sorts? I thought friends only came in one sense of the word,” she teased.

  “They come in many varieties, Miss Grant,” he said with a flourishing swirl around the floor, weaving in and out of other dancers.

  “I do not think I have ever enjoyed dancing as much as I do with you.”

  “I will take that as a compliment to my skill.”

  “I like this side of you, Mr. Riley,” she said, gazing up at his stern expression.

  “And what side would that be?” He didn’t crack the smallest hint of a smile, but surely he knew what she was talking about.

  “Your playful side. You’re always business-like or very serious . . . You’re different tonight.”

  “Is that so? Well, perhaps I should take you dancing more often.”

  She pulled him to a stop after one too many spins. She had to grasp the front of his waistcoat and hold herself still while her head straightened out. She laughed as she tried to focus on the crowds around her.

  Goodness, she must be more careful about imbibing in spirits in future. Finally, some of the faces became clearer; she even followed a top hat bobbing around the perimeter of the crowd, the gait awkward in its up and down motion . . . and familiar.

  Amelia suddenly straightened, her heart in her throat, as she waited for that hat to turn he
r way. She only caught a glimpse of her brother’s face before she ducked behind Mr. Riley’s large form.

  “I fear the spirits have gone straight to my head,” she said in a rush.

  Mr. Riley knew immediately something was wrong, for he looked around the café to see what had caught her eye. Thank heavens, he wouldn’t know what or whom to look for.

  He led her back to the table to retrieve her cane and his hat. “The carriage awaits our departure,” Mr. Riley said.

  He tucked her arm under his and led her outside. Amelia looked at every one of the faces they passed and searched for that familiar hat again, but she didn’t see it anywhere. Had she imagined seeing her brother? Perhaps it was someone who looked like him. But the walk . . .

  She felt dizzy, unbalanced, and stumbled a little in her path. Mr. Riley lifted her up in his arms and strode with purpose toward the carriage. Amelia tucked her face into his shoulder, thankful she hadn’t had to ask for his assistance and glad to be able to hide her face.

  When they were in the carriage, Mr. Riley took her hands between his and watched her in that silent way of his. “Are you going to tell me what frightened you enough that we had to leave so abruptly?”

  “No reason. The absinthe—”

  “I can tolerate a lot of faults and vices in people, but lying is not one of them. Not from you.”

  Pressing her hands against either of his knees, she leaned in close to him. The carriage hit a rut in the road, and she flew right into him, face first, which worked, she supposed, in her favor. Mr. Riley’s hands clasped her arms to keep her steady. She didn’t quite mean to make it so clumsy, but after swallowing back any further denials, there was nothing left to do but kiss him. And she seemed to be mucking that up too.

  Mr. Riley turned her so she sat across his lap, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. His hat was knocked to the side and fell to the seat with a muffled thud.

  With her lips parted, she looked at him from her elevated position, not quite sure how to initiate what they had been working toward all night. His eyes were hard, the color so cold that it could easily send a chill down someone’s arms. But to her, they were inviting. Even forgiving. She could definitely get lost in his eyes.