by Joanna Shupe
He began kissing her jaw, nipping along the skin of her throat. “Relax and I’ll make you feel extraordinary.”
Words eluded her as his finger brushed the tight bundle of nerves where every bit of sensation had now settled. Her hips lifted, seeking, and he rewarded her with another caress, stronger this time. Then he began to circle the taut bud, sending shivers of white-hot pleasure through her, while he licked and sucked on her skin. Hard.
“How is that?” he whispered. “Tell me.”
“Oh, God.” She tried to pull air in her lungs. “Do not stop.”
He hummed in his throat, teeth sinking into her earlobe. “Rest assured, I won’t.”
She clutched his shoulders, the torment continuing to steal her wits, as he made good on his promise. Her insides coiled and tightened as she climbed higher. He kissed her again, taking her mouth ruthlessly, almost brutally, while his hands worked magic between her legs.
One thick finger slid inside her entrance, filling her, and the heel of his hand ground down on her swollen nub. The fullness, the way he surrounded her, his blistering kisses . . . it was too much and yet not enough.
“Please,” she rasped, rocking her hips.
“I have you.” His voice was low and dark, a seductive whisper of silk. He picked up the pace, stroking her in earnest. “Let go, beautiful girl. Show me how good this makes you feel.”
He continued with words of encouragement, humid gusts of tantalizing sin in her ear. Soon her muscles seized and time drew to a stop, pleasure gathering at the base of her spine until it burst. Eyes screwed tight, she trembled, a shout torn from her throat as the sensations dragged her under.
When she floated back down, she couldn’t lift her lids, just laid sprawled in his lap like a limp rag doll. She clung to his warmth and enjoyed the languid, boneless feeling. This is bliss.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she felt him right her skirts, covering her legs. She yawned, nestling closer to his big frame. Somewhere in the tangled cobwebs of her mind she realized his erection hadn’t deflated one bit. In fact, it had grown bigger.
She would just rest for a moment and then ask him about it.
Chapter Three
Phillip Mansfield arrived home in a foul mood.
The morning had not gone as expected. Unfortunately, the ship had docked in New York Harbor sooner than anticipated, and he hadn’t been able to find Evelyn before he disembarked—not for a lack of trying, however. While on the ship he’d searched the promenades, the dining area, and passageways. He’d even ventured into the first-class walnut-paneled reading room, which was where all the women congregated and chatted during the day.
She hadn’t been anywhere.
He hadn’t seen her on the pier, either. Every face, every hint of red hair came up lacking. Even the ship’s crew knew of no Evelyn in the first-class apartments. It was as if she had disappeared.
There had been no choice but to accompany his valet and trunks to the waiting carriage. They rumbled north through the city until they reached Eighty-First Street, the welcome sight of his home greeting him. Built to his specifications three years ago, the house was modeled on the Loggia del Capitanio in Venice. Long columns adorned a brick and limestone front with a balustrade running the width of the five-story home. A mansard roof capped off the structure, one of the tallest on the street.
When he walked in the front door, Roberts, his butler, greeted him. “Good morning, sir. I trust you had a pleasant stay in Paris.”
Phillip grunted as he shrugged out of his topcoat. As pleasant as Paris had been, he could not picture the woman he’d entertained there. All he could see was red hair and greenish brown eyes. Why had she not stayed this morning? The rumpled bedcovers on her side of the bed served as the only reminder the previous night had even taken place.
He had enjoyed every minute. Bold and responsive, Evelyn had certainly been an unexpected surprise. He’d been painfully aroused when she fell asleep in his arms after her orgasm. The only remedy had been to put her to bed, secure himself in the washroom, and use his hand to find relief.
“It was pleasant enough,” he told Roberts. “I am glad to be home, however.”
“I imagine so, sir. Incidentally, Mr. Gabriel awaits in your office.”
“Excellent.” Gabriel was his secretary, and Phillip was more than ready to get to work. “Have some luncheon sent in, will you?”
He strode deeper into the house, past the Italian sculptures and priceless works of art. Over the marble imported from Carrara. Through the wide arches and intricate plasterwork. The sight of it normally calmed him, but he was entirely too distracted today. Distracted by one elusive young woman.
Upon waking this morning, he had instantly reached for her—and discovered cold sheets. That she’d left his room without even waking him to say good-bye bothered him. The woman snuck out like a thief in the night, as if she’d regretted what had happened between them.
He, on the other hand, had absolutely no regrets. He had been eager to touch her again, feel her soft and willing. Warm and wet. Revel in the urgency of her kisses, hear the need mewling in her throat. Then they could finally complete what they had started last night.
Yes, they had slept in the same bed but he hadn’t bedded her. They’d both been drunk on champagne and he would much rather possess his full faculties when fucking a woman. He also preferred a partner who was complicit and fully engaged, one who could approach the situation with logic and reason.
In the clear light of day, he’d been planning to broach the subject, to woo and seduce her until he had her melting into the mattress. Only she’d crept out of his bed before the sun rose. Being denied what he’d craved made him . . . surly. He was not used to disappointment, especially when it came to women.
Mistress, he told himself. I need to find a mistress.
Perhaps he should find a nice widow, a woman he could talk with and who wouldn’t expect marriage. A woman who wouldn’t distract him.
His projects were more important than anything else in his life. The risk with a mistress was that she’d grow unhappy when he stayed at the construction site instead of her bed. He must secure a mistress with reasonable expectations, one with no interest in a serious relationship.
He opened the door to his office, where the familiar hum of the electric lights and stock ticker proclaimed business as usual. A reminder that the world kept turning, no matter his mood.
Gabriel rose and adjusted his glasses. “Sir, you’ve returned early.”
“Yes, by a bit.” Phillip crossed the room. “A storm pushed us closer to shore.”
His secretary gestured toward the ornately carved walnut desk that took up a good portion of the room. “I have organized your things into several piles, each in order of importance. If you start on the left . . .”
“Fine, fine. I’ll get to it in a moment. I have one immediate need first. Get a list of the first-class passengers on my steamship from London to New York. I want to see if I can locate someone I met on the journey.”
Gabriel wrote all this down on a small pad of paper. “That should not be difficult. The shipping line will have a manifest of the passengers.”
“Excellent. I am looking for a woman. Goes by the first name Evelyn. Find out everything you can about her.” His secretary nodded. Satisfied it would be handled, Phillip asked, “Have we received the final arrangements from Hyde? Any idea when the man is coming?”
“Yes, the final plans are there on your desk. Hyde should arrive any day now, as expected. Milliken’s crew is assembled and waiting to break ground.”
Excellent. He was eager to have something to occupy his mind. Lazing about and obsessing over a woman was not his usual style.
“Incidentally, sir—”
The door swung open and Phillip’s mother appeared. He sighed, the familiar pinch between his shoulder blades pulling at his muscles. How had she known he’d returned? She had an uncanny ability to predict his schedule, like a med
ium with a single-focus crystal ball.
As always, his mother was expensively outfitted. Her dress was a heavily embroidered navy silk, and a sterling silver pin dripping with diamonds rested above her heart. Her light brown hair, now fashioned into an elaborate hairstyle, had started to gray at the temples, a fact he happened to know vexed her greatly.
New York society both loved and feared Ellen Mansfield, and most in the Mansfield family were no different. She relished her roles as both matriarch and one of the reigning queens of Fifth Avenue, never hesitating from offering up an opinion—even when unsolicited. The woman brought meddling to an entirely different level.
He approached her, bending to kiss the cheek she presented him. “Hello, Mother. I thought you were in Newport.”
“I brought the railcar in yesterday because I wanted to see my son. When did you return from your little holiday?”
“Just now. I had planned to cable you this afternoon. Shall we sit? I can ring for tea, if you like.” He led her to the chairs opposite his desk and helped her into one. Then he took the other chair, sitting beside her rather than behind his large desk. Gabriel left, softly closing the door behind him.
“No need for tea. I won’t be staying long.” She smoothed her skirts and arranged herself. “The hotel project is ready to begin, I hear.”
“Yes. We break ground in days.”
“And E. M. Hyde is in New York?”
“Not yet, but I expect him imminently. Why?”
“I am having plans drawn up—”
“No.”
She blinked, her shoulders shifting in irritation. Ellen Mansfield did not like to be told no. “You haven’t even heard what I wish to do.”
“Because it’s irrelevant. You do not need to build, redecorate, adjust, or add on to any Mansfield property.”
“I disagree, and I am perfectly within my right to do whatever I wish to Stoneacre.”
Ah, so it was Stoneacre this time. Would she never leave well enough alone? First of all, Stoneacre, the Newport cottage, was more than adequate for the family’s needs. With forty-four rooms, no additional space would be required, ever. Second, Hyde was not traveling to New York to bow to the whims of Ellen Mansfield. There was a hotel to build, for God’s sake.
“The answer is still no.”
“That is unreasonable, Phillip. Your father built that house for me, in case you’ve forgotten. It was a gift after five years of marriage. Stoneacre is mine to do with as I please.”
As expected, she was digging in her heels, using guilt and nostalgia to wear him down. He had to hand it to her; his mother was crafty. “I realize as much, but there’s no space issues and you had the interior remodeled two winters ago. You are merely bored, Mother.”
One eyebrow rose, the barest of movements but one that spoke volumes. “Perhaps I would not be so bored if I had more grandchildren.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. She was like a dog with a bone. “Stop.”
“Fine.” She rose and pulled on her gloves. “By the way, I am having a dinner party on Friday evening and I expect you to attend. I need to even out the gentlemen.”
He noted she hadn’t given in on Stoneacre and he foresaw more future conversations on this topic. Oh, the joy. “I’ll check and let you know. Who else will be in attendance?”
“The Wilsons, the Halls, the Bends. Hardly anyone is in town.”
He saw right through her. “This would not have anything to do with Miss Hall, would it?”
She stopped and held up her hands, palms out. “We cannot have the Halls thinking you’ve changed your mind.”
“I never agreed to anything and you know it. Merely because you wish me to marry the girl does not make it so.”
His mother had been trying for two years to convince him to marry Rebecca Hall. The girl was lovely, well mannered. Good fun, really. She was one of the young unmarried ladies of society he actually liked. But there was no spark, no burning attraction between them, and he sensed Rebecca was as uninterested in him as he was in her. Hardly seemed fair to start a marriage off in such a lackluster fashion.
“It is a good match and all but decided, Phillip.”
A familiar anger rose in his chest, the burning resentment of having his affairs out of his control. “You do not get to decide when and whom I marry. That may have worked with Meredith and Beatrix, but it will not work with me.” His sisters hadn’t had much choice in husbands, even though both claimed to be content in their matches. Despite this, Phillip did not want to be managed.
“You’ve always been like this.” His mother glanced up at the portrait in Phillip’s office, one painted of the entire family while his father was still alive. The lines of her face softened and he knew his mother missed his father. They had been the rare couple where love had blossomed from an arranged union. “The more I try to push you toward something the more you back away. I’m not your enemy or rival; I only want what is best for you.”
Not entirely. Sometimes he believed she only wanted what was best for her. His opinions held very little weight when it came to his mother. “Do not assume I will marry Miss Hall—or anyone, for that matter.”
Her eyes grew large with horror, yet he didn’t retract the comment. This was not the first time he’d said this but she needed to hear it again, apparently.
“It has been more than ten years, Phillip. Is it not time to let it go?”
He said nothing. The incident was brought up so infrequently these days that he hardly knew how to respond anymore. The humiliation still pricked, however, as fresh in his mind as it had been all those years ago when he’d nearly been tricked into marrying Caroline. “My feelings about Miss Hall have nothing to do with that.”
“Nonsense. I let you choose that Boston girl, even though I had my doubts. Always supported you and did everything in my power during the worst of it. Let me choose this time. I promise, you’ll be satisfied.”
A marriage in which he was merely “satisfied” sounded positively awful. He wanted the perfect wife, someone beautiful and refined but who also dazzled him; an intelligent woman who never argued and would not mind a husband who traveled most of the year overseeing various endeavors. Settling for less would never satisfy him.
“No. When—and if—the time comes, I’ll be choosing my own bride.”
Disapproval carved deep lines on his mother’s face, and still he would not give in. He did not need children to build a legacy. He would have his buildings, his hotels.
“Well, I’ve already told them you are coming Friday night. What am I supposed to say?”
As always, his mother had already moved her pieces on the chessboard and he was struggling to catch up. He did not have it in him to be cruel, however. “Fine, I’ll be there—but only if you promise not to make any more promises on my behalf.”
She lifted her chin and stared at his father’s image in the painting. “He was so young when he died. I always thought we would grow old together, but no one lives forever.” She lowered her gaze to Phillip’s face. “I expect you promptly at eight o’clock.”
Morning sun sparkled outside the glass of the Cortland breakfast room the next morning as Eva entered. “Good morning,” she called.
“Eva, good morning.” Nora gestured to a chair. “Please, join us.”
A footman assisted Eva into a seat next to her friend and across from Mrs. Cortland, Nora’s aunt. A servant stepped forward and reached for the coffee urn. She held up a hand. “I’d prefer tea, actually.”
“The coffee is here for my husband,” Mrs. Cortland murmured as the footman poured. “He’s the only one who won’t switch over to tea.”
“Julius is also one of those obnoxious coffee drinkers,” Nora said with a small, fond smile. “Yet I love him anyway.”
Her friend and Mr. Julius Hatcher had married a few weeks ago. The marriage was to be kept a secret, however, and a big society wedding would follow in September. At least Eva would be there for the secon
d ceremony, where she would serve as Nora’s maid of honor.
Eva had shared dinner with Nora, Mr. Hatcher, and the Cortlands last evening, and it had been instantly clear why the pair were perfect for one another. Hatcher was grounded in practicality and reason, which suited Nora’s impulsiveness. Eva couldn’t be happier for Nora, even if it was hard to believe her headstrong, fearless friend had married. Though, as Eva could now attest, American men were nothing like British men.
A shiver went down her spine as she recalled Phillip’s drugging kisses. Even if the night they spent together remained hazy in her mind, she did remember those kisses, ones she’d needed more than air.
The morning after, she’d been gifted with plenty of opportunity to study his well-delineated muscles and golden skin as he’d slept. The man hadn’t a bad side, apparently. She hadn’t found fault with him at any angle. Dark lashes rested on his cheeks, full lips parted, with morning whiskers covering his jaw. Broad, strong shoulders. She hadn’t ever witnessed a more glorious man.
And she prayed never to see him again.
The mortification over her behavior hadn’t abated. Thank goodness Phillip did not know her real name. Whatever happened on the ship would stay there, never to be repeated or reported. They would not encounter one another in the future and this whole episode would be forgotten.
The end.
She shook herself and offered Nora’s aunt a grateful smile. “Thank you again for opening your home while I am in New York, Mrs. Cortland.”
“My pleasure, and you must call me Aunt Bea. We have more than enough room and Nora is thrilled to have you here. We all are, in fact.”
They chatted easily over their breakfast until a footman arrived with a note for Nora’s aunt. She excused herself from the table and left, leaving Nora and Eva alone. Her friend ordered the staff from the room. “Now we may speak privately,” Nora said when the door closed.
