by Joanna Shupe
Of course, she hadn’t told Phillip of her plans. Perhaps she would invent another reason for her trip home. Financially, she had to remain employed.
“I apologize,” Doyle said when she remained silent. “It’s none of my concern.”
Eva sent a nervous glance to the doorway where Phillip had disappeared moments earlier. “No, I am just not used to answering honestly. His health is quite poor, actually.”
“I am truly sorry to hear that. I met him once, six or so years ago when he spoke at the Royal Institute. A genius, your father.”
She had been in the audience, the only woman in a room full of men. Her father had refused to speak until they admitted her. Perhaps this was where Doyle recognized her. “Yes, he is that.”
“When will you tell Mansfield? He believes your father will arrive in a few weeks’ time. From what I understood that will be nigh impossible, and Mansfield does not seem the type to appreciate a lie.”
“I haven’t decided yet—”
The curtains parted and Phillip, tall and deliciously brawny, entered. “You haven’t decided, what?”
Eva froze, her brain stuck on a lie. Mr. Doyle came to her rescue, his answer smooth like dry plaster. “On whether to attend the grand opening celebration. I assume you are having one?”
“Of course.” Phillip joined them at the table, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, dark eyes sweeping over the traces. “But that’s two years away. Miss Ashford has time to decide before then, though I do hope she’ll join us. Along with her father, of course.”
Eva struggled not to react. Mansfield does not seem the type to appreciate a lie. Her stomach clenched, the guilt twisting her insides. She did not know how much longer she could go on lying to him. Phillip cared deeply about this project, and having E. M. Hyde’s name attached to it mattered to him. A lot. Eva did not want to face his disappointment when he learned she’d been behind the entire design.
Coward. You’ll need to tell him eventually.
Yes, but that didn’t mean it must happen today. Or tomorrow. Or next week.
“You know busy architects,” she said. “Always flitting from one job to the next. I have no idea what his lordship will be working on by then.”
The waiters arrived with entrées and the traces were rolled and packed away. Eva promised to send copies to Mr. Doyle, who confirmed his interest in the project.
Phillip looked entirely pleased with himself, so handsome and dashed appealing as he cut into his roasted lamb. She watched his hands—rough and large, and incredibly strong—and shivered. They were capable of delivering such delicious pleasure, the memories enough to make her dizzy.
A boxer. Yes, she could see those fists pounding another man. Raw strength and power behind his punches. Heat licked through her veins, and she suddenly longed for a fan to cool off.
Glancing up, she caught his eye. A dark brow quirked in amusement. He’d obviously caught her staring. Well, they were having an affair. They were supposed to desire one another, correct?
Yet it was becoming so much more than physical. She liked talking to him, making him laugh. Discussing buildings and designs, the progress at the site. He was intelligent and kind, protective and intense. She hadn’t met anyone like him, not in England or New York.
And that scared her.
She had to remember her purpose here, the nature of their relationship. He was her employer, nothing more. She would soon return to England, to her father. When in London, she would cable Phillip with news of her father’s inability to travel and offer to handle the rest of the build herself. He must never learn of her duplicity.
You merely want to continue the affair.
Yes, she did. For the most selfish reasons, too. Though the affair was temporary, she planned to enjoy every minute of it.
She raised a brow at him in return, challenging him, and the side of his mouth hitched. Later, he mouthed, and gave her a bold wink that turned her bones to jelly.
Her gaze darted to Mr. Doyle, who was thankfully engrossed in his soft-shell crabs. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t seen her act like an utter fool over their employer.
Above all else, no one must learn of the affair. Not only would she be humiliated, the world would assume she’d used her charms to get favors from Mansfield. That she’d allowed him in her bed as a way to influence her role on the project. The idea was ludicrous, but there would be some who believed it—even if it were untrue.
She had to try harder to hide her feelings for him. From everyone . . . especially herself.
Doyle left shortly after dessert, but not before declaring his eagerness to work on the hotel. Phillip had shaken his hand and promised to follow up tomorrow. Now, it was time to celebrate.
Plus, a particularly luscious redhead had been staring at him all evening, her long gazes full of hunger and longing. He understood, his mood much the same. It seemed years since he’d last touched her and he might go mad if he didn’t satisfy this insane craving straightaway.
He excused himself to have a quick word with the staff before locking the suite door and returning to the table. Anticipating they would be left alone for the night, he inched his chair closer to hers until their thighs were nearly touching. “Did you enjoy meeting Mr. Doyle?” He draped an arm over her chair back, fingertips skimming the nape of her neck.
Her breathing hitched and two spots of pink appeared on her cheekbones. He loved her unblemished pale skin. Every thought and emotion was clearly visible, like the perfect telegraph into her mind.
“I did. But then, you knew I would. For the record, he knows who I am.”
Phillip hadn’t expected that. “He knows you’re Hyde’s daughter?”
“Yes. Apparently he’s an ardent fan of my father. Will that pose a problem for you?”
“For me? No, as long as he does not tell the crew.”
She nodded, her gaze sliding away as her mouth tightened. Puzzled, he caught a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Is that frown about hiding your identity from the laborers?”
“No. We agreed to keep it a secret.” The shadows in her eyes gave her away. She was growing unhappy with the lie.
He let her go, his mind racing as a knot formed in his belly. They hadn’t even poured the foundation yet, and her reputation could very well jeopardize the entire project.
However, this was Eva. Her unhappiness affected him, even as he’d told himself to keep a distance from her. Despite those noble intentions he . . . cared for her, more than he’d ever dreamed possible. She had slipped under his skin that night on the ship and he’d been unable to recover ever since.
Perhaps he didn’t want to recover.
Wait, what was he saying? He and Eva, together? Publicly?
The idea no longer filled him with dread. Instead he imagined pulling her skirts up inside his box at the opera . . . Showing her the inside of the New York World Building when it was finished downtown . . . Seeing her red hair spread over his pillows every night . . .
Christ, he ached for that.
Standing, he shoved the coffee cups and dessert plates to the other side of the table. Then he helped her stand. “I am going to kiss you,” he warned. “For a long time.”
“Here?” Her gaze darted to the door.
“It’s locked and the staff won’t interrupt us. You’re mine, Lady Eva.”
He sealed his mouth to hers, her body instantly relaxing into his frame, a delicate hand curling into his vest to hold on. She tasted of sugar and champagne and everything he’d ever desired.
His tongue found hers as he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her. He loved how she reacted to him, the way she shivered and pressed her breasts to his chest. The marked difference in their sizes never seemed to bother her. In fact, she seemed to like his bulk. It was yet another reason why he adored this woman.
She moaned into his mouth, a faint yielding that stoked his blood like a furnace. Cupping her buttocks, he l
ifted her until she rested on the linen-covered table, the china and crystal rattling gently. She drew back, her glance darting to the door. “What are you doing?”
“What we’re both craving.” He bent his head and nibbled the side of her throat.
“Phillip, there are hundreds of people below us—people who would be scandalized to learn what we are doing right now.”
He dropped kisses lower and lower, over her collarbone, the smell of her creamy skin drugging him, until he reached the plump mound of her breast. “It would not be the first time pleasure was sought in these private dining suites, I’m sure.”
She clutched him, her breath coming fast and harsh. “But I cannot stroll down the stairs all sweaty and disheveled, looking as though we’ve just gone three rounds in bed.”
He knew this. He would not give her cause for embarrassment . . . yet he needed to taste her everywhere. Right now.
Flicking her skirts to her knees, he slid her thighs apart and stepped between them, the fabric of her drawers scraping the wool of his trousers. He was hard, his body demanding and ready, but his pleasure would have to wait.
“Phillip, stop. You are not listening to me. We are in a restaurant. A very public restaurant, with most of New York society one floor below us.”
He reached down to cup between her legs. She was warm and soft and lust rolled through him, a burn that settled in his groin. “Just let me feel you.”
Her thighs fell open in tacit approval and he slid a finger inside her. She gasped and let her head drop to expose her neck. He began peppering kisses along her jaw, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. “You’re so wet. So tight. I never get tired of touching you.”
He pumped his hand and added a digit, stretching her. “All those people downstairs and no one would suspect I have my fingers inside you. Pleasuring you. What would they say if they knew?” He dragged his thumb over her clitoris, gratified when she moaned. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let them hear you. Let them hear how much you love what I’m doing to you.”
More wetness coated his fingers, her grip tightening on his shoulders. She likes this. Was it the danger of discovery? “How quickly can you come, I wonder?” He rubbed faster, pausing to curl his finger and find the spot deep inside that drove her wild.
She tensed, her hips tilting slightly. “Phillip . . .” It was said like a prayer, a benediction, and he knew she was close.
A third finger and she began panting, the tops of her breasts heaving. He bent his head to kiss and lick the soft mounds. “Do you wish I was inside you right now? Thrusting into you over and over? Would you like everyone downstairs to know that you’re being pleasured by my c—”
Before he could finish the crass word, her body clenched around him, walls pulsing. He quickly sealed his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries. God, she was so perfect. No one made him harder, not even in his youth. He couldn’t wait to get her to Twenty-Fourth Street tonight.
A long moment later, she slumped back on the table, her eyes glazed and skin flushed. He grinned in triumph. He loved seeing that well-pleasured look on her face. Leaning in, he kissed her. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re the devil,” she breathed. “How does a society scion learn to speak that way?”
“It’s you.” He withdrew his fingers and slipped them into his mouth, groaning at the musky, delicious flavor of her. “You’ve turned me into a barbarian.”
She smiled shyly and then smoothed her skirt. “Well, barbarian, we should continue this at the apartments. I’ll leave first. Then you may follow in twenty minutes or so.”
A prickle skated along the back of his neck. Subterfuge no longer sat well with him. Why hide how he felt about her? This was unlike anything he’d experienced before and he didn’t care who knew it.
Had there ever been a woman more perfect for him? They made a good team, even outside the bedroom. He’d sworn never to marry after the disaster with Caroline, but that had been a bitter promise borne of humiliation and heartbreak. He could see that now.
Besides, if Eva were increasing, the babe would definitely be his. She was nothing like Caroline and the two situations were entirely different. There were no secrets or hidden agendas here. Eva cared nothing about his money or his position. In fact, she’d resisted him at every turn.
Moreover, he was not a green nineteen-year-old overcome by lust. He wanted more than just to bed her. He longed for early morning coffee and rides in the park. Trips to Newport and London, discussions on their favorite buildings. Arguments and laughter.
He wanted her, in every way. Damn the consequences.
Trusting his gut instinct, he blurted, “No. I’m leaving with you.”
“You cannot.” She stared up at him, eyes wide, her hand clamped over his forearm. “Everyone will see us.”
“I don’t care who sees us together, Eva. I don’t care who knows. Let’s tell all of New York, in fact.”
Her brows drew together and she twisted away from him, sliding off the table until her feet hit the floor. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He lifted a shoulder. Undoubtedly he was not articulating this well, but he had to try. “If keeping your identity on the construction site a secret bothers you, let’s tell everyone. I am able to protect you.”
“Tell everyone? You are not making any sense. You cannot protect me without ruining my reputation.”
Hardly. A public relationship would only help her. The only question was how serious a face they put on it. The one thing he knew was he wanted to do this right. She was English aristocracy, the daughter of one of Britain’s most famous men. There were rules, protocols, for this sort of thing and he’d abide by them. She deserved no less. “I don’t want to ruin it. I’d like to court you. Properly.”
“Court me?” Eva’s face lost most of its color as she backed up. “Have you gone mad?”
“Not at all. My name will protect you, both in society and on the construction site. No one will dare harm or slander you if we are linked together.”
Instead of relief, horror washed over her features. “I do not require your protection. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
Her unexpected reaction began to sink in and an unfamiliar awkwardness quickly turned into annoyance. “Well, the episode in the shack says otherwise. Besides, we’re already having an affair. Why not do this right, more formally?”
“For many reasons,” she snapped. “For example, I do not have time for courting. I like our arrangement precisely as it is.”
“And it would remain as such, but with a few more public outings.”
“Taking time away from other tasks, not to mention I would lose all credibility at the construction site. They would see me merely as an extension of you.”
Exactly. And his word was law there. “Why on earth would that be a problem?”
She let out an exasperated noise and threw up her arms. “Because it would. I’m the architect, Phillip, not some errand girl there to relay her man’s wishes.”
“You mean your father is the architect. Technically you’re his errand girl.”
Anger sparked in her gaze, though he couldn’t say why. “Exactly. How could I forget? So you want me to go from being his representative to acting as yours.”
“Would that be so terrible? The men would all respect you, despite your fear of losing credibility. Don’t you see? This gives you more credibility.”
“No, it does not. This ensures no one sees me as Eva Hyde. I essentially disappear, lost in your shadow. First, my father’s shadow . . . and now yours.” She put her hands on her hips. “How is that better for me?”
What was she talking about? “Eva, I won’t try to prevent you from working on the project or stop you from visiting the site. You may continue your duties until your father arrives from London.”
“Oh, how generous of you.” Her tone dripped sarcasm. “All under your careful watch, of course. You still wouldn’t trust me with any appreciable respons
ibility.”
His muscles clenched as they did before he stepped into the ring. “I’ve told you, the project is too important to leave in—” He shut his mouth but it was too late. The words were out there, and they both knew it.
“In my hands?” She gave a mirthless laugh. “Precisely.”
“Eva, I’d be saying the same to your father if he were here.”
“I honestly doubt that,” she shot back. “You still don’t believe in me. But that’s all right because I believe in myself—and I will prove my worth to you before I return to London.”
She strode toward the door, the silk layers of her train whispering over the carpet. “Just so we are clear, I am not interested in marriage. Ever. Everything is skewed to benefit the man in that institution and I have too much to lose.”
Eva’s mood was as dark as tar the next day as she and Nora trotted toward the massive open park in the center of Manhattan. “The only reason I’m agreeing to this absurd early morning excursion is to see Olmsted and Vaux’s design.” Central Park was widely considered the finest park in the world, an egalitarian masterpiece that made common green space accessible to all citizens regardless of social standing or wealth. It was worth getting on the back of a horse to see it. Maybe.
Nora smirked, the feathers in her jaunty riding hat bobbing as they rode. “Then I consider myself lucky to accompany you. No doubt you’ll tell me all the details that make the park unique.”
Eva didn’t care if Nora wanted to hear her commentary or not. She would spout the details, if only to have someone share in her joy at the discovery. If only Phillip were here, he’d appreciate the details.
She ground her back teeth together. Stop it. Stop thinking about him. The rebuke almost caused her to laugh. Stop thinking about him? She might as well order the earth to stop spinning.
In case I haven’t been clear, I want to court you.
Had he gone mad? The two of them currently had a lovely arrangement. Why ruin that with talk of anything serious?
