Private Relations

by Nancy Warren

  He kissed gently, the way he had in the carriage. He tasted her the way a connoisseur would sample the rarest vintage wine. He was a man who had all night and intended to use every minute of it.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Let’s make it perfect,” and she led him to her big, beautiful, princess bed.

  He undressed her slowly, and if he didn’t make any promises, he certainly wasn’t silent. His accent was so delicious, it rolled across her skin making the words almost secondary. He told her she was beautiful in ways that made her feel beautiful.

  “You’re so lush and ripe,” he said, filling his hands with her breasts, and touching her belly and hips with delight, so she felt lush and ripe.

  By contrast, his body was long and sinewy. She liked the whipcord leanness, his wonderful slim-fingered hands that looked as well cared for as her own. And oh, how those hands could touch her.

  Some men were put off by her frank enthusiasm for sex. She’d wondered if Giles might be like that. Too fastidious for the noises and messes of down and dirty sex. To her surprise and delight, he loved her enjoyment of the act. Kept up with her just fine and took her over the edge more times than she’d have believed possible—even for her.

  When they were both exhausted and they’d pretty much tried out every inch of her suite and played with most of the toys stored in the bedside table, they lay still. His hand played absently in her hair and her head rested on his chest.

  “Did anybody ever tell you you’re great in bed, your lordship?”

  “I had the right partner,” he said.

  “No.” Then she turned her head to look at him. “Really?”

  “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

  “Maybe a couple of little ones.”

  Then he whispered in her ear. “You are spectacular, earthy, with a body that was designed for sex.”

  “Oh, stop it. You’re turning me on again.”

  “Well,” he said, trailing a hand down her belly, “I think I could work with that.”

  “You really are a fantasy, aren’t you?”

  “No more than you are,” he said, rolling on top of her and entering her with slow, lazy precision.

  “I’m a fantasy? Why?”

  He moved slowly, not enough to get them too worked up but enough to keep them on simmer. “You’re frank. You say what you want. You care about what I want. You obviously love sex, you enjoyed playing with all the toys, but I felt that you enjoyed me as much.”

  “More,” she sighed. “A lot more.”

  “Also, you talk dirty in bed and I have to say that is a rare treat for me.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I shouldn’t hold back?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Okay.” She gazed up at him and she felt beautiful and sexy. So, maybe she was more of an earth mother than a princess. That was good, too.

  “No toys this time?”

  She shook her head. “Just us.”

  Then he started to move faster and she felt her body turn wild. And she didn’t censor herself, not her earthy cries or her dirty talk, not her desire to explore every inch of his body or to let him discover hers. They rolled, they played, were noisy and then, at the end, very quiet, as they held each other through the sweetest of all fantasies. Mutual pleasure.

  With a sigh, she rolled to her side and he curled his body around hers, one hand slipping to her breast. She fell asleep with the feel of his palm warm above her heart and the sound of his breathing soft in her ear.

  IRENE WOKE WITH A SMILE on her face. A stupid, goofy, oh-I-never-knew-it-could-be-like-that grin. She rolled over to see if Giles was awake yet, and the grin froze.

  He was gone.

  There was a dent in the second pillow that proved he had been there, but of the man himself not a sign.

  Well, she should be used to it by now. Men left her bed in the night sometimes. Nature of the beast. She shrugged, trying to convince herself that the hollow feeling in her belly was hunger. Or caffeine withdrawal.

  She’d had a great, incredible, fantastic night. She had had no right to expect anything. In fact, she hadn’t. She’d been so busy telling him that she didn’t have any expectations beyond last night, why the hell hadn’t she listened to all those tough words she’d spouted?

  The trouble with fantasies, she realized as she dragged herself out of bed, was that they were meant to be dreamed, not lived. What happened to a person who lived a fantasy? Were they forever changed? Would she now spend the rest of her life trying to find a man who could make her feel the way Sir Giles had made her feel for one special night?

  She groaned. Coffee. Everything would be better once she’d had some coffee.

  And maybe he’d left her a note somewhere. She could imagine it.

  Dear Irene,

  Thank you for a lovely evening. Unfortunately, Her Majesty requires my urgent attendance at Buckingham Palace.

  Sincerely,

  The Honorable Giles Pendleton.

  Oh, well. He was gone. It didn’t really matter.

  As though her intense craving had conjured it, she caught the scent of fresh coffee.

  Okay, so she’d put the in-room pot on and then shower.

  She padded toward the bathroom and then jumped a mile when the door opened and Giles stepped out.

  “Giles!” She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him. He hadn’t left. He’d been in the shower. He was wearing nothing but a towel and staring at her in a way that reminded her of every single thing they’d done last night.

  Only then did it hit her that she was naked.

  And it was morning. The suite was full of unforgiving light and Giles stared at her as though he wanted to start last night all over again.

  “I love the way you look,” he said.

  Oh, so she wasn’t perfect. Maybe a little rounder than she’d like. If he liked the way she looked who was she to argue? Instead of cracking cellulite jokes, she smiled at him and said, “Thanks.”

  “I made you coffee.”

  She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to fall at his feet and beg him to be real. “Mmm. Wonderful.”

  He poured her a mug and she took it gratefully, drinking several scalding sips. “I can’t believe you made me coffee.”

  “While you’re drinking it, I need to ask your advice about something.” He sounded so serious she drank some more coffee. The more caffeine in her system, the better she could cope with whatever he wanted to talk about. His wife and eleven children? The fact that he was on the run from an international crime syndicate? How he needed to check in with his psychiatrist or parole officer?

  “Okay,” she said, taking one more jolt of coffee. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Can you please explain the purpose of this?” he asked, picking up a red plastic object shaped a little like an octopus.

  It was obviously one of the sex toys that Hush stocked, but he showed it to her with the same concentrated expression as though he’d discovered a new life form.

  She tried to keep the grin off her face but couldn’t quite succeed.

  “Tell you what,” she said, “I need to shower and brush my teeth. While I’m doing that maybe you can dream up some ways to use that thing.”

  He turned it upside down, around, peered at it from all sides. “It has me in a puzzle.”

  “You are too cute,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on her way past him.

  Well, she thought, as she rubbed wonderful scented liquid soap on her body, it seemed that her magical night was spilling over into a magical day.

  And she simply wouldn’t think about tomorrow.

  13

  PETER FINALLY TRACKED KIT down in the hotel lobby, chatting to one of the guests as though she was working on the weekend instead of fulfilling one very demanding contest winner’s every fantasy.

  Since his fantasy weekend was going to be over in about three hours, he walk
ed smack up to Kit and some L.A.-looking hot shot who obviously had ideas about Kit that were not going to become reality.

  “Hi, babe,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Her annoyance was evident in the quick glare she sent him before showing her PR face to Mr. L.A. “I know you’re going to love Hush,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Honey, I already do,” he said, and with a nod to Peter he walked away.

  “Don’t you ever do anything like that again,” Kit said in a furious undertone.

  “But it’s the weekend. You’re not even wearing your name tag.”

  “That’s not the point. I have a position of respect in this hotel that doesn’t include kissing the guests.”

  “You did a lot more than kiss me last night,” he reminded her.

  “But that was in private.”

  They probably would have stood there arguing all day if they hadn’t been hailed. Irene and Giles were walking toward them. Irene looked a little less the princess and a lot more the stand-up comic today, but at least she was wearing some of the more subdued of the items that Kit had seen in her closet. If you didn’t count the bright red Keds on her feet.

  Giles, as perfectly put together as ever, said, “We were just going to have breakfast. Care to join us?”

  “We’d love to,” said Peter before Kit could open her mouth. He knew perfectly well that she’d try to fob him off if she got the chance.

  She tried. “I’ve already—”

  “Anything he wants,” Peter reminded her with a grin that hid his disappointment.

  She’d left him again some time in the night. He’d woken alone, knowing this was the last morning of his magic weekend and he was no nearer getting Kit back than he had been Friday morning.

  He’d tried calling Giles, just for somebody to bounce his troubles off of, but Giles must have been in the pool or something because he hadn’t answered.

  He needed to figure out some kind of plan to show Kit that he’d changed, that he’d grown up, that he was ready for her now. He had to show her that his love was real and permanent. And he had an awful feeling he had to do it fast.

  “All right,” said Kit, and he was pathetically grateful.

  When they got into the restaurant and they’d finished ordering, Peter said to Giles, “So, were you working out this morning?”

  He got an enigmatic look in return. “No.”

  “I tried to call you but there was no answer in your room.”

  “Peter,” Kit said in that shut up tone women use when they think you’re being indiscreet.

  “I wasn’t in my room,” Giles explained.

  “But where—”

  Even as Kit kicked him under the table, Giles said, “A gentleman doesn’t tell.”

  “He was in my room,” Irene said in a smug tone that suggested Giles hadn’t bunked in the spare bedroom.

  Peter felt suddenly that nothing in his world made sense anymore. “You slept with Irene?”

  “Peter!” Kit said, looking like she wanted to smack him.

  Peter barely acknowledged her outrage. He was staring at his old friend. “But you’re—”

  “What?” Irene asked, pausing before sipping her coffee to raise her brows at him. “Are there more secrets I should know about? If he’s not in banking, I can deal with it. Not being royalty will be a little tougher, but I think I can learn to live with that. So, unless Giles is married or his prison weekend pass is about to expire, you probably can’t shock me too much.”

  Ha. That’s what she thought. God this was more awkward than he’d have believed possible. “Well, Giles is…I mean, it was clear this didn’t have to be a sex thing, and Kit was desperate.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Irene said.

  “No, I don’t mean that, I mean…I always thought, everyone thinks…”

  “Thinks what?” Irene insisted.

  He glanced at Giles looking for some help, but the Englishman simply regarded him with mild, and irritatingly amused, interest.

  Well, there was no graceful way out of what he’d blundered into and besides, Irene had a right to know. “Giles is gay.”

  Irene laughed. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth but that only made the giggles sound like snorts.

  Giles cut a perfect square of omelet and put it into his mouth.

  When Irene had stopped laughing, she said, “He’s not gay. He’s English. Sometimes with those snotty types, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

  Peter had never been that wrong about anybody, except maybe when he had run off and left Kit. He couldn’t be that far off base. “Are you…” He flapped his hand from side to side.

  “Am I?” Giles leaned forward with his brows raised and a question mark hovering in the air.

  “I think he wants to know if you’re bisexual,” Irene said helpfully.

  “My goodness. What very odd topics you do choose for the breakfast table, Peter,” Giles said.

  “Well, are you?”

  Giles took a napkin and patted his mouth. He glanced at Irene and the way they looked at each other pretty much sizzled the table linen. “No, Peter. I’m not. I’m as straight as you are.”

  “But you enjoyed that facial, I swear you did.”

  “You would have, too, if you didn’t spend the entire afternoon fighting off some implied threat to your masculinity.”

  Kit didn’t say anything to defend him. First, she’d seemed shocked at his suggestion that his old friend was gay and now, based on the ill-concealed grin on her face, she was enjoying his discomfort.

  He ought to drop the subject, but somehow he felt that this was all part of his problem. Could his sense of people suck that badly?

  “How come I’ve never seen you with a woman, then? I mean before this weekend.”

  “We’ve never really socialized all that much, you know. It’s been business lunches and things.”

  “You’ve seen me with women. And I always assumed you never got married because—”

  “I was gay. Yes. You’ve made that clear.”

  Giles stirred his coffee slowly, as though debating something. Then he looked up, not at Peter or Kit, but at Irene.

  “I had a…close friendship with a woman for many years. She was in an unhappy marriage, but wouldn’t leave her husband or children. We were utterly discreet. I’d have married her if I could, but it wasn’t possible.” He sounded so sad. Irene put her hand over his.

  “What happened?”

  “She died,” he said softly. “Car accident. Stupid bloody car accident.”

  “When?”

  “Four years ago.” He smiled briefly. “In our way, we were faithful to each other for twenty years.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

  He gripped her hand and it was as if they’d forgotten they weren’t alone. “You made me laugh again, Irene.”

  Peter wished he were miles away. Or at least that he’d kept his fool mouth shut.

  Then Giles turned back to his coffee and it was clear he’d revealed as much as he was going to. Wow. Peter had always though Giles was a cool customer, but he’d never realized how much he hadn’t known.

  “So, I was totally and completely wrong about you,” Peter said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He narrowed his eyes. His people judgment might suck, but he wasn’t totally stupid. “You knew what I thought, though, didn’t you?”

  A slight smile flickered across that aristocratic countenance. “Yes. I had my suspicions.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “First, because I’m not usually in the habit of discussing my personal life, and second, because it did you a great deal of good to presume you had a gay man as a friend.”

  “But…but…I’m sure there’s some logic buried in there somewhere, I don’t know what it is, though.”

  “I’m sorry, Irene,” Kit said suddenly. “I had no idea when Peter suggested Giles that—”
<
br />   “Hey, it’s okay. Turned out pretty good for me.” She beamed at her new lover. “I’m having a great fantasy weekend.”

  Damn it, this wasn’t going at all the way he’d hoped. Soon he’d have to leave and he had no idea how to get Kit back. His old business acquaintance was clearly not only straight but great at getting women to fall at his feet. Look at Funny Girl, there. She looked more like a dreamy bride than the smart mouth of yesterday. Giles, Giles, who’d fooled him for years, wasn’t even gay, and he was great with women, while Peter who’d always had a way with women couldn’t get any commitment from the woman he loved to even see him again. The world was a stranger place by the minute.

  “So, Giles,” he said, “What are you up to later today?” He was going to have to find some time to pick the man’s brains for advice.

  Giles raised his thin eyebrows. “We’re going to catch up with some light reading in the library,” he said, then shot a glance at his date that suggested reading wasn’t going to be a big part of the day’s activity.

  “But we have to check out today,” Peter reminded him.

  “Not us,” Irene told him. “I had to start my weekend late so they extended me until tomorrow.” She glanced coquettishly at the man sitting beside her. “Giles is staying to keep me company.”

  “Oh.” Peter turned to Kit with renewed hope. Maybe if he could stay another day, too, then he could impress her with his desire to renew their relationship. “Do you think I could stay another night, too?”

  “Sorry, dude. Your fantasy weekend ends at noon.” She glanced at her watch. “About an hour from now.”

  “But I could—”

  “The suite’s booked for tonight, and most of the regular rooms are gone.”

  Okay, so she didn’t want him hanging around. He got her incredibly unsubtle message. She was probably lying about the hotel occupancy, that’s how badly she wanted him out. “It was a stupid idea anyway. I have to work tomorrow.”