by Anne Barton
Goodness. She hadn’t anticipated any resistance at this early phase. The challenging part was still to come.
As he rearranged the furniture as she requested, she admired the subtle flexing of his muscles beneath his jacket. A sigh might have escaped her.
He looked up. “Did you say something?”
“Hmm? No. This looks perfect. Now, if you wouldn’t mind helping me walk to the chair by the win—Oh!”
James scooped up her and her bag and held her close to his chest. His hard, warm wall of a chest.
She wrapped an arm around his neck because she thought it might help him if she shifted some of her weight. It had nothing to do with wanting to feel the downy curls at his nape or the corded muscles of his neck.
He didn’t move but simply stood there, holding her and gazing into her eyes like there was something he wanted to tell her. Something tender and moving.
Ridiculousness, of course. But this was the same fantasy she’d been having since she was approximately twelve years old. No wonder she saw things in the depths of his green eyes that weren’t really there.
And then his gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering there.
Her heart hammered in her chest, because there was no mistaking that look. He wanted to kiss her.
Coincidentally, she wanted to kiss him, too.
He seemed slightly breathless, which Olivia chose to believe was a consequence of his desperate longing for her and not of the effort he exerted in order to hold her.
Though neither of them spoke, Olivia could feel the frantic beating of his heart.
His lips parted, and without thinking she raised a finger and began to trace them, savoring every sensuous curve and testing the fullness of the lower one.
James made a strangled sound, closed his eyes for a moment, and nipped at her finger, capturing the tip between his teeth.
She breathed in sharply but didn’t pull away as he took more of her finger in his mouth—so warm and wicked—and sucked on it until her nipples tightened and her body tingled from head to toe.
When he released her finger, she cradled his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, sighing at the sweet, familiar taste of him.
He kissed her too, but not with the same unchecked power as before. This time, he seemed to hold back, giving only as much as she gave, resisting his desire and the natural escalation of passion that occurred whenever they touched.
And even though that was just as well, she ached for more.
The kiss cooled to a low simmer before she reluctantly ended it. James nuzzled his forehead to hers and breathed her name so sweetly that if she dwelt on it she could easily be reduced to tears.
With a breeziness that was all show, she said, “Pleasant though that distraction was, you are delaying the surprise. And I still require your help with a couple of things. First of all, you may set me in the chair.” Maybe then she’d have a prayer of being able to think straight.
He placed her upon the wooden seat of the chair but kept his arms around her for a moment more, as though he were reluctant to let her go. “What else can I do?”
“Take the coverlet from the bed and hold it up in front of me—like a curtain.”
His forehead wrinkled adorably. “I don’t understand.”
Ignoring his real question, she said, “You just hold one end and let the rest hang—”
“No, I mean why would you want me to do that?”
“Ah. That is part of the surprise. Hold the blanket above your eye level. There is to be no peeking.”
He stoically did as she asked, with only the slightest bit of mumbling under his breath. Once the coverlet hung between them, she took a deep breath and began her transformation.
First, she eased her arms out of the little puff sleeves of her dress. She’d asked Hildy to leave the laces on her dress a bit looser this evening. Even so, she had to perform impressive contortions to free her arms. After accomplishing that much, she tucked the sleeves into the bodice of her gown so that they were invisible. Already she felt daring and bold.
She glanced up to make sure James wasn’t cheating. Satisfied, she went to work on her hair. She undid a few pins in the back, letting most of her curls fall past her bare shoulders. Then she opened the satchel and began rummaging through it, causing some of the items inside to clink.
James shuffled his feet. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Patience,” she cooed. “It will be worth the wait.” Unless she ended up looking foolish and silly, but there was no sense in dwelling on that very distinct possibility.
At last she found the crown she had fashioned by winding a gold silk ribbon around a pointed tiara and carefully placed it on her head. Next came her exotic necklace, which was actually just a golden chain with several earrings and feathers hanging off of it, but when she’d squinted at it in the looking glass that afternoon, it had almost looked exotic. She clipped long, dangling earrings to her lobes and added one last item of jewelry—a large cuff bracelet that just fit onto her upper arm.
She had only one more detail to attend to. She retrieved a bit of kohl and a handheld mirror from her satchel. Though her hands were shaky, she managed to apply a thin line of kohl to each lid and beneath each eye.
There.
She checked her reflection. This was as close to Cleopatra as she could get—at least under the circumstances. She’d scrounged through her trunks all day just to come up with this makeshift costume, hoping it would elicit one of James’s slow, secretive smiles, the kind that heated her blood and left her curiously breathless.
She wanted this night with him—an evening to remember always. James was the only man she’d ever love, and she wanted one night of passion with him, even if it meant she was giving up the chance for marriage to a respectable gentleman. She knew the risks involved, but she’d risked so much already. And fortunately, they were miles away from London and the censuring looks of the ton.
James was worth any risk. Olivia had dreamed of him for ten long years, and if she didn’t reach out and seize this chance to be with him—tonight—all her dreams would slip through her fingers as surely as Sahara Desert sand.
“Are you almost done?”
“Why, are your arms getting tired?” But her teasing was a delay tactic. What if he thought her ridiculous and tawdry? He was so passionate about ancient Egypt, and she didn’t want him to think that she was trivializing it by boiling it all down to one famous queen. She just wanted him to see her in a different light. Not as his best friend’s little sister or as a damsel who required rescuing… but as a woman. And—God willing—as a desirable one.
She shoved the satchel under her chair, threw her shoulders back, and took a deep breath. “You may lower the blanket.”
His arms dropped to his sides, and the coverlet pooled at his feet. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, and then froze. And blinked twice.
As his gaze roved over her, Olivia’s heart pounded in her chest. But she held her chin high as she awaited his reaction—some sign of what he thought.
“You look so…”
She raised a brow.
“… so… I don’t know.” He dropped to his knees and searched her face as though the proper adjective might be found there.
“Beautiful?” she offered helpfully. And hopefully.
“God, yes.”
So he was pleased. And the hungry look on his face said he was more than a little affected. A flood of relief emboldened her further. “Exotic and seductive?”
“Olivia.” He said her name like a warning.
Which she ignored.
She leaned forward, giving him an unobscured view of her décolletage, and said, “Do you like it?”
His eyes dropped to the gold necklace glinting on the swells of her breasts. “What man wouldn’t?”
“I don’t care what other men think. This is just for you.”
“Olivia,” he said again, his voice ragged, “I’m tryin
g very, very hard to resist you. But you’re making it nigh impossible.”
Good, then her plan had worked. The nervousness she’d felt earlier evaporated. Never more sure of what she wanted, she scooted forward on the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Right now, you have two choices.”
“I’m listening.”
“You can go get some paper and draw me…”
“Or?”
“You can ravish me.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Stone Age: (1) A prehistoric period during which stone tools were widely used. (2) A distant time period, as in
Olivia’s love for James dated roughly back to the Stone Age.
James’s jaw dropped. Ravish? “You shouldn’t say things like that, Olivia.”
“I’m certain Cleopatra asked for what she wanted. Why shouldn’t I?”
“There’s nothing wrong with asking for what you want, but—”
“Well, then, I want this.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him like she really was Cleopatra. And with all the skill and confidence of the renowned queen, she brought him to his knees.
She melded her mouth to his, exploring with her tongue, then pulled gently on his lower lip with her teeth. He moaned into her mouth and for a few moments surrendered to desire—and to her.
When she broke off the kiss, he was panting like he’d fought three rounds at his boxing club.
“So what is it going to be?” she whispered. “Would you rather sketch me… or ravish me?”
Dear God. “It’s not a question of what I’d rather do,” he admitted. “It’s a question of what’s right.”
“The way I feel about you is right. It has to be.” Her brown eyes pleaded for understanding.
He wanted to tell her that he understood perfectly, because he loved her, too. It would be such a relief to bare his soul to her. But there was the small matter of his expedition, and even though she’d once said she’d wait for him, the trip was fraught with danger. A quarter of the men on the last large expedition hadn’t returned alive. Besides, he hadn’t told her about her father’s letter—yet.
“I’m not worthy of such devotion.”
“I know.” She gave him a saucy smile and ran a fingertip up and down his neck. “But you shall always have it.”
“Olivia, I care about you greatly.” He could tell her that much. “But I think it would be best if I went to the other chair, picked up the paper and charcoal, and tried my hand at drawing.”
With a forlorn sigh, she released him. That probably should have been his first hint that she had more surprises planned.
He stood and Olivia’s eyes flicked to the bulge at the front of his trousers. She raised a brow and pursed her lips seductively, God help him.
After retreating to the chair opposite her, he picked up the sketching supplies and waited as Olivia settled herself.
“How is this?” She turned sideways on her seat and looked seductively over one shoulder.
He fumbled the charcoal he was holding. “Very nice.” He looked down at the blank paper and drew the lines of the window frame behind her. A fine rectangle with straight sides and right angles—no luscious or distracting curves. But when he glanced up to check the proportions of the ledge, Olivia had moved. “Is something amiss?” he asked.
“The pose felt a bit stiff and unnatural. Let’s try something different.”
“If you insist.”
“I think we must.” With that, she began to unlace the tie at the side of her dress.
“Don’t do that.”
“Trust me. This will be a vast improvement.” Holding the front of the gown to her chest, she let the sides fall away, exposing inches and inches of creamy smooth skin from her shoulders down her spine, all the way to the small of her back. Then she wriggled her bottom like a mischievous mermaid preparing to sun herself on a rock. “How’s this?”
Jesus. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a corset underneath your dress? Or a chemise? Something?”
“Lady Olivia most certainly should. But I’m Cleopatra. Remember?”
He shifted in his seat in an effort to ease his painful erection. No luck. “Fine. But I must ask you to be still.” Her seductive pose was distracting him from the task at hand—namely, drawing the parallel floorboards beneath her chair.
“Try to imagine that I’m reclining on a plush chaise,” she said huskily. “It’s a pity we don’t have one.”
James grunted and tried to concentrate on the paper in front of him. So far, he had blocked in the window and the floor. Next, he would sketch the small framed landscape hanging on the wall.
Anything but Olivia.
“How can you possibly draw me when you won’t even look at me?”
“I am looking at you,” he lied.
“Perhaps the costume is too much.”
He glanced up and watched her remove the gold crown from her head and the cuff from her arm. “So we are done with drawing?” he asked hopefully.
“No.” The sharp look that accompanied the word made it considerably more emphatic. “We are not.” With that, she sat up straight and reached behind her neck—presumably to undo her necklace. As she lifted her arms, the front of her gown dropped to her waist.
Exposing rosy-tipped breasts that begged to be touched… and kissed.
The paper in his lap floated to the floor and his heart began to beat triple time.
Oh, he was definitely looking now.
She took her time unfastening the necklace, then dropped it into the satchel beside her. She made no move to cover herself but looked directly at him as she gracefully gathered up her hair and twisted it into a pile on her head. “Do you like this?”
“God, yes.” His voice was little more than a croak.
“Or is it better like this?” She let her heavy tresses tumble down around her shoulders, pouted prettily, and arched her back.
Where in the name of God had she learned how to do that?
Nothing she did should surprise him—and yet, she constantly did.
She seemed to be waiting for a response, but damned if he knew what the question was. So he said the thing that was on his mind. “You are a lovely and exotic Cleopatra, but I think you are even more irresistible as yourself.”
She blinked. “Do you mean it? The part about me being irresistible?”
“Absolutely.” In fact, it was impossible to resist her for another second.
In two strides he stood before her, scooped her into his arms, and laid her crosswise on the bed. Crawling over her, he whispered, “Are you sure, Olivia?”
“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a decade. I don’t wish to apply undue pressure, but you might try to make it worth the wait.”
“I shall do my best.” He would do anything to give her pleasure. But though the thought of losing himself in her was very, very tempting, he wouldn’t risk getting her with child. Not when he was about to leave England. Not while there was so much unspoken between them.
So he would have to content himself with making this a night she would remember—always.
Olivia had known the moment James surrendered—she’d seen it in his eyes. And even though he didn’t love her with the same abandon she loved him, she knew in her bones that this night would be one of knee-melting, eye-opening pleasure. And she couldn’t wait.
James laid her back upon the bed and shifted his hips on top of hers. Under his weight, she sunk into the mattress, comfortably captive and more than willing to give herself over to him and to passion. As their mouths melded, he dragged the front of her gown below her waist and cupped her bare breast in his hand, teasing her taut nipple with his palm.
“So damned beautiful,” he murmured, his breath warm and moist against her neck. “I adore everything about you, Olivia. Tonight, you’re mine.”
“Yes,” she said, thrilling at his words and tingling from his touch. “And you are mine.” She pushed his jacket off his shoulders until he took t
he hint and obliged her by shrugging off the garment and letting it fall to the floor. He wore no waistcoat; only a thin cotton shirt separated his skin from hers, and she longed to feel his chest, warm and hard, pressed to hers.
Grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, she pulled the hem free and slipped her hands beneath, skimming her fingers over the subtle, masculine contours of his torso. A light sprinkling of hair tickled her palms, and though she’d imagined running her hands over his chest many, many times, the reality was tenfold better. Perhaps a hundredfold. “This has to go.” She clutched the front of his shirt and gave it a firm tug. “Now.”
Groaning, James reluctantly lifted his head from her neck where he’d left a trail of searing kisses. But as he sat up and hauled his shirt over his head, he smiled down at her with such tenderness and passion and honesty that if she didn’t know better, she’d think it was… well, it looked like the stuff her dreams were made of.
The sight of his bare chest made her want to pounce on him and she was about to do just that when he said, “Your gown needs to go, too. Everything does.”
Heat crept up her chest and neck, not from embarrassment, but from desire. “Very well. But if you insist on sketching me in the nude,” she teased, “you mustn’t let anyone else see it.”
He growled. “Don’t worry. I’m not good at sharing.”
Sighing happily at his words, she reached for the gold silk bunched at her waist.
He placed his large, warm hands over hers, stopping her. “Let me.”
She reached up and traced a line from his ear to his jaw. “Very well, Mr. Averill. I shall leave it up to you.”
A delicious gleam lit his green eyes as he slid off the bed and stood before her. With heart-stopping deliberateness, he slipped the silk over her hips and down her thighs, inch by inch. She delighted in the sharp intake of his breath when he realized she wore nothing beneath her gown. She might have worn stockings if not for the bandage on her right foot. It seemed silly to wear just one, so she’d left her legs bare, and now she was glad.
She leaned back on her elbows and didn’t attempt to cover herself as his appreciative gaze swept over her. She drank in the sight of him as well, wondering at the flat planes of his belly and the breadth of his shoulders.
