With one hand braced against his chest, the pounding of his heart driving into her palm, she tried to calm her breathing. He smelled better now than before, the hot scent of his skin making her weaker than the struggle to keep the paper hidden. Why him? Why did this man elicit such fervid feelings?
She didn’t have much time to think of the answer when he eased closer to her, his lips tickling the most sensitive part of her ear. “You will not prevail as the victor in this contest, Miss Forester.”
She countered, her voice revealing more nervousness than nerve. “If you continue to go about getting your way in this manner, neither will you.”
To her relief or disappointment, he fell away. “Very well, I guess I’ll just have to wait until you fall asleep.”
She felt the blood rush from her face to her feet. Oh, God, he wasn’t thinking about staying here all night, was he? She needed to do something…well, before she did something regrettable. Whether or not Raify trusted him did not change the fact a man, a complete stranger just a few hours ago, was going to spend the night in her twenty-by-twenty apartment.
“I’m warning you, Edmund. If you don’t leave, I will—”
“You will what?”
“I will call the police,” she said, lifting her chin in triumph.
His gaze sliced around the room, searching for the landline phone that didn’t exist, and then to the broken phone a few feet away.
“Well, since it appears the only phone readily available is mine, you will just have to come and retrieve it.”
He lifted his hands and shifted his hips to indicate how his phone lay inside his pants pocket. His smile curved his lips, distracting her, but only for a second. She leaned forward and paused a few inches away. Damn. How did she get herself in these predicaments and why didn’t she have enough foresight to keep her hands to herself?
Chapter Six
Edmund couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time with a woman without having his fun and then searching for the nearest escape route. He didn’t even care about the paper anymore, not with Abby Forester keeping him entertained.
She was fire and ice, and he enjoyed everything about her. She was also adorable and feisty as opposed to gorgeous and simpering. The way she moved excited him, the way she spoke calmed him, and he thought he didn’t mind staying awake all night just to watch her sleep.
Then again, imposing upon her unpretentious space did not suit him, but it was worth watching her as she believed he intended to do so.
Now, with his heart pummeling in his chest, he waited as she took a few timid steps forward. Not once did he believe she’d go in after his phone until her slight fingers trembled inside his pants pocket.
Only, her aggression to find the bloody device caused her to touch more than he or she bargained for. “That’s not…my phone,” he growled close to her ear.
A streak of white heat touched every nerve in his body as she yanked her arm back to her side. She cradled the hand that had caressed him with the other, her pale blue eyes wide with incredulity.
“Well, what did you think was going to happen?” she snapped at him, her face the shade of a damp rose. She was trembling and he didn’t know if it was from touching a man, or him.
“I thought you might look in the jacket pocket where I keep it,” he fired back, more upset with himself than her. He’d meant to teach her a lesson, not grow hard and aching.
As he tried to recover from the shock of her touch and she tried to quell the anger of being provoked, he sat down. “Of course, it might have been fair to disclose the fact that I left my phone in my car…that is now in Will’s possession.”
He avoided glancing at her and stretched upon her horrendous bed, crossing his feet and interlacing his hands behind his head. He inhaled deep, loving the fresh scent of her pillow—lavender, he thought. He was pushing her, he knew, and he wondered how close he teetered toward the edge of her tolerance of him.
“That’s my bed, and I demand you get off of it!”
“I’d like it, very much, if you’d give me the paper, Abby,” he said in a low and gentle tone. Yes, he’d elicited more than a full night of lovemaking with that voice.
Her chin lifted to a haughty pose, a habit he thought suited her. “Never.”
He was thrilled by her answer, more so than he cared to acknowledge. “I will not give up so easily.”
“Neither shall I,” she said, her arms crossed over her exquisite breasts.
He gave into her, for now, tipping his head just as Will’s voice crackled through the intercom in her room.
“Are you guys up there?”
****
Abby kept her lips pinched together, watching Edmund smile and then leave. She waited until she heard the car idle away before locking the place up again.
The next morning, her alarm clock sounded and she dove to silence it. She lay for a moment, wondering if she’d dreamed last night. Then she remembered the shattered vase and her phone, and knew Edmund was not only real, but had come to wreak havoc on her stagnant life.
With the morning slipping away, she rushed through her shower, gathered her book bag, and dashed for the bus. She arrived in class with little time to spare, settling into her usual seat and trying not to think about Edmund or his spellbinding and annoying presence. Instead, she attempted to catch her breath and focus on his irritating faults. However, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one of them.
For the first time, she noticed her Women’s Lit class buzzing with excitement. Unfortunately, too occupied in pulling out her books, she hadn’t noticed who sat beside her.
“Good morning, love.”
Her heart battered against her breast at his voice. She brought in a calming breath and turned toward Edmund. “What—”
His lips pouted outward. “Hmmm, you’re not happy to see me.” He pressed his hand to his chest in mock disappointment.
Unsure of the rules of drop-in students, Abby glanced toward Ms. Fairchild, a fresh-out-of-grad-school blonde bombshell with a trim southern California figure. The woman smiled in Edmund’s direction, touching herself to lure his gaze toward her breasts.
Abby leaned toward him, his head coming close, too close to meeting hers. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Right now, enjoying the view.” He sliced a glance from her to Ms. Fairchild, and it irked her that she didn’t know to which one he referred.
“Go away.”
“Hmm, not until I have the paper.”
“No,” she said in her firmest tone. “Now I can add stalker to the list I’ve compiled of your many infuriating faults.”
His eyes lit up. “You have a list compiled for me, Abby? How very charming.”
Abby closed her eyes until Ms. Fairchild spoke out a question. “Abby Forester, is there someone you’d like to introduce us to this morning?”
Abby’s breath left her. “Shoot,” she whispered. Not only had he made her the center of attention, he’d done so on purpose. “No, not particularly.”
The barrage of giggles and hum of murmurs lit fire into Abby’s face. She wanted to slide under her desk and never come out. She wanted to pound Edmund over his majestic head until he fell semi-conscious at her feet.
“You do realize a gentleman of impeccable taste,” the woman paused to collect herself, “has followed you into the class and sits staring at you at this very moment.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he’s not a gentleman.” She glanced over in his direction, finding a quirked brow and a crooked grin. “Can’t we just ignore him?”
“No, I’m afraid that would be impossible,” Ms. Fairchild said, accentuating her response with a quick lick of her glossy pink lips. “Sir, would you like to introduce yourself?”
Abby’s hope of starting the day with a series of ordinary events plunged like Ms. Fairchild’s neckline. Edmund stood up, tall and self-assured, gracing the class with a perfected bow.
“My name is
Lord Edmund Rushwood, and I’ve come to—” He paused long enough to narrow his gaze down at Abby. She shook her head, horrified at what he had in store for her. A few seconds later, she didn’t have to guess. In one fluid motion, he grabbed her fisted hands and hauled her upward into his arms. Too stunned to say a word, too ensnarled to move an inch, Abby remained locked in his embrace.
“Surrender my heart,” he continued, his smooth voice rolling over her like a crisp waterfall. “For you are what I’ve searched for, what I’ve loved. Can you feel it?” His warm breath caressed her flushed cheek. With skill and patience, he used the pad of his thumb to trace a sensual line from her lips to her throat. Shocking tingles raced down to her toes. She tried to hold back a whimper. She really did.
“You are too kind to lead me astray, my dearest, dearest Abby. If you still love me, do not make me wait another second. Tell me I have won your affections. Tell me it is not too late. However, if I am wrong, one word is all it would take to send me away…forever.”
Then he stopped talking and she stood mesmerized, almost hypnotized by his nearness. She stared into his dancing eyes. He was having the time of his life at her expense. While her heart pounded and her stomach somersaulted, from both the attention and his ardent gaze, he stood relaxed and nonplussed, as if he’d rehearsed the scene a thousand times before, with a thousand other women incapable of resisting him.
“That was marvelous!” Ms. Fairchild pronounced.
The class erupted in a congregation of whoops and claps, with Edmund releasing Abby and stepping away. Abby used the moment to scoop up her belongings and bolt from the celebratory room.
****
Since meeting Abby Forester, Edmund had spent his waking hours remembering every moment with her. After Will had the sense to pick him up, Edmund decided to find another way of reacquainting himself with her. He hoped to persuade her to give him the paper, not that he was sure he even needed the blasted thing. Sure, he could have taken it himself, but it was much more fun trying to confiscate it from her.
Only he hadn’t planned on channeling a besotted fool or holding Abby while her hips drove against his. He admitted to using the same tactic a dozen times, but not once did the unnamed woman—or women—ever wish to escape with such fervor.
“I pray…that you will excuse me,” he addressed his audience. “It appears my love has run away.”
He sauntered into the hallway where a black book bag flew out of nowhere, smacking him square in his forehead. “Bloody hell!”
“Are you trying to ruin my life?” Abby yelled at him in a controlled whisper.
“No! I’m trying to rescue mine,” he said, investigating his growing lump with careful fingers. “Am I bleeding?”
Abby sent him an exaggerated smile. “One could only hope.”
Not finding any sympathy, he dropped his hand and stood back. Her eyes sparkled, and he longed to see them impassioned with more than just ire. She was just as lovely now as when he’d left last night, although a bit more unkempt from his impromptu performance earlier.
“Do you realize I needed to demonstrate my understanding of nineteenth-century Women’s Lit to Ms. Fairchild today?”
He whipped a finger into the air. “Again, how does a woman fail Women’s Lit?”
Her beautiful eyes widened. “Why do you even care?”
Remorse settled into his conscience…again, enough so to give her another chance to end this. “Show me the paper, and I’ll disappear forever.”
She exhaled and crossed her hands in front of her. “Tempting, but no.”
He found a wall and leaned against it. “Then you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”
Her silent, blinking stare unnerved him. He wanted to know her thoughts, wanted to know if her heart beat as fast as his every time he touched her.
“Abby—” His words were cut off as people began filing out of the room, some in a hurry. Abby glanced around confused and then at him, pinning him down with an accusatory glare.
“What did I do?”
She sent him a warning glance before stopping a young woman with freakish black lipstick and tinted red contact lenses.
“Rhonda, what’s going on?”
The young woman blinked before raking a covert gaze over Edmund’s nether regions.
Her voice dripped like molasses. “Fairchild released us for the day. She said for those who need to re-write their lit assignment, that this would be a good time to do it.”
Rhonda paused to lick her pierced lip and point toward Edmund’s heart with a glossy black fingernail.
“Geez,” Abby scoffed, shaking her head and leaving him in the hallway with Rhonda. Without much conversation, the woman reached into his jacket, fished out his phone and somehow proceeded to punch her number in without a word exchanged between them. Not that he’d ever tried to make anyone jealous, he wondered what Abby might think of him calling the girl, though the thought frightened him.
“If you ever get bored,” Rhonda said, slinking away in a pair of six-inch, high-heeled gothic boots. A little rattled, he strode out into the late morning sun, finding Abby at the bus stop, checking her watch and glancing down one side of the busy street. He placed himself behind her, enjoying her heightened breath at his approach.
“Do you think this phone number your friend gave me is hers?” he asked, holding his phone before her, hoping to see a flicker of begrudging emotion.
Abby nodded. “Oh, it’s hers, all right. Trust me when I say this, Rhonda only wants one thing from you.”
“Oh, goody.”
“A daddy for her three kids,” she informed him.
He tried not to smile at her smug grin. “Oh, I…suppose you saved my life, perhaps in more ways than one,” he muttered.
With her back still to him, she shrugged, the slight movement stirring the air with her light, delightful scent. “No, I saved hers. I have no doubt you’d make a lousy father.”
For the first time, it dawned on him that he’d wounded Abby somehow, possibly from the barrage of comments he’d hit her with the night before. He didn’t mean what he’d said about her company being torturous. He’d enjoyed it, actually, way too much. “Oh, so we’re back to insults?”
“You should know.”
He turned her around to face him, and with a hesitant hand, swept away a wisp of hair caught in her long eyelashes. When his touch didn’t cause her to jerk away, he found hope. “Do you think we could call a truce for an hour while we find a place to eat breakfast? I’m famished.”
She shook her head. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Very good,” he said before locking his hand in hers and leading her along with him down the tree-lined sidewalk.
She resisted at first, but only for a few steps. He enjoyed the intimate contact between them, her warm palm against his in the breezy air. He liked Portland, taking the Streetcar from the University to the Main Library on many occasions. He’d also spent his fair share of time—and far too much money—at a local pub on Park Street.
“I did say I don’t eat breakfast.”
He grinned down at her. “Yes, and I heard you, and since it’s closer to lunch, you don’t have any other excuse not to go with me.”
A few blocks down, Edmund found a deli crowded with patrons and slipped them both inside.
From the counter, a waitress yelled, “Seat yourself,” with her back still to them.
The place smelled of coffee, bacon, and sugary confections. He continued to guide Abby, placing her inside an empty booth, him facing the window with the neon writing. He much preferred a better place to dine; somewhere, perhaps, that didn’t have menus as placemats or silverware wrapped in paper napkins.
“We really don’t have to eat here,” she assured him.
Embarrassed that she had read his thoughts, he shook his head. “No, it’s…fine,” he said, swiping at the dried crumb stuck on item number four on the paper menu. He forced a smile and glimpsed over a few other choices before the
waitress with hot pink hair and a bubbly personality approached them, pad and pencil in hand.
“Do you know what you want?”
He nodded toward Abby, who had chosen to cross her arms in protest, saying nothing. Her silky hair was pinned in a haphazard ponytail, the sides framing her round face like an angel’s wings. The peach shirt she wore did much to illuminate her complexion.
“All right, since you don’t know what you want, I’ll order for you,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her. “She’ll have a bagel with cream cheese, a bowl of your fruit, whatever is in season, and a cup of tea with some cream on the side.”
“Are strawberries okay?” the waitress asked, smiling.
“Perfect,” he said. “And bring me the same.”
The young woman sashayed away, returning a few minutes later with the items he’d ordered. Even knowing Abby’s intolerance of him, he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be at the moment.
“So, I…uhm,” he began, trying to remember the last time he’d apologized for anything he’d done or said, especially to a woman. “I’m sorry about what I said last night, about…your…”
He paused, and she rolled her eyes as he attempted not to drop his gaze to her breasts. He had no doubt they were real and he had to shake himself to keep from wondering how they might feel against his palm.
“So, I heard from Will this morning,” he said, changing the subject for both their sakes.
She clicked her tongue and picked up her tea. “And what did he want?”
Edmund shrugged. “He wanted to know if you’d changed your mind and given me the list.”
She harrumphed, choosing only to take a dainty sip.
“He also wanted to know if I’d scored.”
Chapter Seven
Edmund watched as Abby inhaled her drink, causing her to spew some out and then choke on the rest. Remorseful, he reached across the table and lifted her hands up high above her head. She continued to cough, her face turning the shade of the strawberries between them.
“All better?”
She nodded and blinked at him, still coughing at three- to four-second intervals. He wanted to know why she held on to the list, something so worthless to anyone but him and Will.
Lord Bachelor Page 5
