by Arlene James
Lucien grinned and snaked an arm about her waist, pulling her over onto one hip and around to face him. He’d been doing that all day, touching her with casual purpose, as if he had a right to or, more accurately, as if serving her notice that he was claiming the right to touch her in any fashion he chose.
“I never knew being a tourist could be such fun,” he told her huskily.
She smiled, feeling the now-familiar sizzle of electricity. “Me neither, but it has been fun, hasn’t it?”
“Very much.”
She allowed herself to relax and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s been your favorite part?”
“The Eye.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Too crowded.”
“Ah, but the view was spectacular, more so because I was plastered against you.”
She no longer blinked or blushed at such flirtations from him. His many compliments and innuendoes had started a slow heat in the pit of her belly that had warmed her thoroughly this whole day. “So naughty,” she scolded teasingly.
He nodded, a smile lurking at one corner of his mouth. Pure desire burned behind those charcoal eyes, and it touched off sparks of the same in her.
Suddenly he rose, snagging her hand on the way up. “Come. Time to get those poor feet of yours back to the hotel for a nice soak.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and let him pull her onto those aching feet. “You have such lovely ideas.”
“Here’s another,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist as they walked toward the exit. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. I know a grand restaurant near the Royal Albert, very formal, very stuffy, very good. I’ll give you time to rest and dress properly.”
“Hmm, it could be fun to dress up.”
“You could always wear that scrumptious thing you wore last night. It really deserves a wider audience.”
She laughed. “Thank you, but I do have another I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
He drew her a little tighter against him. “Do you? That’s definitely something to look forward to, then. How is about half-past eight?”
“Perfect, but are you sure you can get reservations?”
He just smiled and led her away from the river to the street, where he quickly hailed one of those famous black cabs with the wide doors and high seats. On the ride back to the hotel, he insisted on pulling off her shoes and rubbing her stockinged feet. Her embarrassment didn’t last long against his talented hands; she felt like butter by the time they arrived. While he paid the cabby, she hastily began donning her shoes again, but he took them from her, declaring, “No need.”
Then he swung her up into his arms as she stepped out of the vehicle and carried her easily across the chilly pavement and through the door to the hotel lobby, where he deposited her as casually as if he toted around shoeless women every day.
She managed a breathless, “Thank you.” He inclined his head and looked down at her with those steamy eyes of his. Her heartbeat accelerated. “I-I’ll see you later.”
“Umm,” he said, handing over her shoes, “but you’ll kiss me now.” His tone implied that he had waited quite long enough, and something in her agreed with him, for she just stood there in the hotel lobby, clutching her worn loafers to her chest, while he stepped closer, delicately touched her face with the fingertips of both hands and bowed his head to meet her mouth with his.
That’s all it was, a meeting of the mouths, eyes closed, bodies yearning but not touching. For a long, sweet moment, their lips formed softly against one another, and then a tremor shook him, a deeply internal quake that telegraphed itself through his fingertips and the merest touch that he maintained along the ridges of her cheekbones. Immediately, he dropped his hands and lifted his head. The look in his eyes poured over her like hot lava. Scalded, she backed away, then whirled and walked swiftly toward the elevators on stockinged feet.
As she moved, she became aware of her surroundings again and how busily everyone else was attending his or her own business. The elevator doors slid closed in front of her burning face, but as she rose upward, the heat that rode with her had nothing at all to do with embarrassment and everything to do with losing her mind.
The proof of that came nearly two hours later. The light knock fell upon her door while she was still in her bathrobe, just having finished her face and pinned up her hair. Her elegant, sapphire dress lay spread out across the bed. It was early yet, but she knew instantly who it would be. She did not, however, expect to find him standing there in tuxedo pants and pin-tucked shirt, without a jacket, two stemmed glasses in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. His smile seemed perfunctory and troubled. He spoke without preamble.
“I know I’m rushing you, but I find that I simply cannot sit through a long public dinner without embarrassing myself.”
“Whyever not? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” He bowed his head, looking up at her from beneath the smooth jut of his brow. “Nothing is wrong, but I find that I cannot stop thinking about making love to you, and that presents a certain…condition not acceptable in public.”
His firm, silky tone, the heat in his eyes, each alone was enough to undo any resolve she might have knotted together since that kiss in the hotel lobby. She gulped, knowing what would happen if she let him cross her threshold.
“You’d better come in.”
Standing back, she cleared the doorway, then closed it after he strolled through, the tense line of his shoulders at odds with his easy amble. He looked around him for someplace to put the wine and glasses. Finding the table, he moved to it and carefully situated each item before turning to the bed. He picked up the dress by the shoulders and studied it as if picturing exactly how it would look on her.
“You have exquisite taste,” he told her.
She stood before the electric fire and folded her hands to disguise their trembling. “Thank you.”
He draped the dress over one of the chairs and finally looked at her, his intention blatant. “My room is larger,” he said huskily. “We can go there if you like.” It was too stupid an idea to even entertain, so she just looked at him. Suddenly he stepped close and pulled her into his arms, running his hands over her back and bottom with proprietary command. He sighed, his chin resting in her hair and whispered, “You know how beautiful you are, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she answered, and it was true. In that moment out of time, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she knew that she would never forget it.
“I feel as if I’ve waited my entire life to make love to you,” he said, and that was how he did it, as if touching her, kissing her, laying her bare and exploring her body with tender adoration were somehow the culmination of a lifetime of desire and planning, a hard-won goal meant to be savored and relished, wrung of every last drop of pleasure.
But if it was all that for him, it was nothing more nor less than total surprise for her, one gasping, glorious discovery after another. She had never understood what sex could be like with a young, virile man, gentle and hard, lazy and rushed, intense and serene all at once. She had not expected the beauty of it or the wonder, let alone the intense, prolonged orgasms that left her sated and hungry at the same time. She felt like a fool at times and worldly-wise at the end and, finally, knew that she would never blush again.
Luc lay back against the pillows, one arm curled above his head, the other holding her lush form against his side. The pins had fallen from her silky hair, and it fanned across his chest, a living blanket of waves and large, tumbling curls. He felt oddly triumphant and amazingly replete. And puzzled.
Her little gasps of surprise and pleasure still echoed inside him. The dainty, tentative brush of her hands still swept his flesh with sensual memory. The way she had arched her back and wrapped her legs around him felt, even now, oddly poignant. Neither of them could deny that the sex had been extraordinarily fulfilling, and yet something was missing, something upon which he couldn’t quite put h
is finger.
It wasn’t as if she had held back, and yet he sensed that he had merely peeked beneath her surface tonight. He had realized upon their meeting that her serene facade masked a highly sensual nature, but now he was beginning to understand how deeply passionate and, yes, even volatile, that sensuality was. Clearly, he had yet to plumb those depths, and he very much wanted to, perhaps even needed to. He didn’t like that, didn’t like it at all.
Still, he could be a pragmatic man. He had what he had. He could only deal with it as it was. And one night, or two or three, wasn’t going to give him enough time for the task. He decided that he was going to close the gate on her, keep her close at hand. At least until he settled this thing in his own mind. What he had told her before was entirely too true. He always wanted to know things, and Avis Lorimer compelled him in a way no other woman ever had. He silently vowed that he would solve the mystery of her before he was done.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, as if she was taking stock. “Yes.”
He reached across the bed, lifted the telephone receiver from its cradle and punched a button. “This is Mr. Tyrone,” he said to whoever answered the ring. “Could you connect me with Room Service please? Thank you.” He lowered the receiver and spoke to Avis. “Have a taste for anything in particular?”
“Not really.”
He went back to the telephone. “Mr. Tyrone here. I realize your kitchen is probably closed, but we haven’t eaten this evening. What could you send up? Chateaubriand?” He looked down at Avis and lifted an eyebrow. She shrugged. “That’s fine then.”
“And something sweet,” she said.
“And dessert,” he said into the phone, still querying her with his eyes.
“Chocolate,” she decided.
“Any chocolate taking up space down there? Pudding? Pudding is excellent. And I think that’s it.” He gave the person on the other end of the line the room number and hung up.
Avis rolled over and propped her chin on his chest, looking tousled and sleepy and sated. “Do you always get what you want when you want it?”
“Usually,” he admitted, “but I can be a surprisingly patient man.”
“I admire patience,” she said. “I have to work at it myself.”
He studied her for a moment. “You’re a puzzling woman.”
She sat up, carrying the covers with her, leaving only her lovely shoulders and arms bare. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, you somehow seem a very patient sort to me.”
She shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, I learned to be, but it was a struggle, and I know now that I couldn’t be that patient again.”
He tilted his head. “And what does that mean, again?”
She just looked at him. “Once I was patient, for a long time, but I don’t think I could be again. That’s all.”
Seeing that she was not going to say anything else, he sighed. “Definitely a puzzle.” He reached up to tap her chest with a finger. “I sense secrets in there.”
She tilted her head. “Is that what interests you? Ferreting out my secrets?”
“About as much as this,” he said, pulling the covers out of her grasp, revealing the most naturally perfect breasts he’d ever seen.
She sat there staring down at him, her rich blue eyes brushing his with their gaze. Then she abruptly flopped down on top of him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll never tell,” she whispered tauntingly.
He laughed and flipped her over, yanking back the covers completely. “Yes, you will.”
She shook her head. “And you can’t make me.”
“Famous last words,” he promised, on his knees. He ran his hands from her collarbone to her thighs, rollicking in every sumptuous hill and gentle valley along the way. When dinner came, he yelled for them to leave it outside the door. It was much later, after a tepid meal and full bottle of good wine, that he discovered to his surprise that neither sex nor food had diminished his appetite for dessert.
Chocolate pudding would ever after be his favorite.
The sun was glaring when the warm body next to her stretched and groaned. On her stomach, Avis pushed hair out of her eyes and managed to lift her head. “Morning.”
The man who grinned at her was in sore need of a shave and looked more stunning than ever with his hair going every which way and his eyes heavy with sleep. “Good morning, beautiful.” He smoothed her hair with one hand and groaned again. “This bed is awfully hard.”
“I noticed that the first night.”
He burrowed beneath the covers and pulled her up onto his chest. “But not last night, hmm?”
One corner of her mouth kicked up. “Can’t say that I did.”
He kissed her with full attention, then broke off. “What time is it anyway?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
He fumbled around for his watch and lifted it from the bedside table. “Damn, I’ve missed a meeting. Lofton is probably pulling out his hair.” He’d intentionally left his cell phone in his own room so he couldn’t be reached, but he hadn’t expected to spend the whole night here or to sleep so late. “Well, to hell with it,” he decided aloud. “I own the damned company. I can blow a deal if I want.”
“Oh, no,” Avis worried aloud. “You didn’t really?”
He grinned at her. “Probably not. But so what if I did?”
Avis bit her lip, weighing the wisdom of her own curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How rich are you?”
He didn’t blink an eye. “Very. Why?”
She frowned. “Just lots of little things have made me wonder.”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. I’m quite comfortable myself.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Don’t be offended,” he cautioned, pushing up onto his elbows, “but I had you checked out. That’s not very romantic, but I’m afraid it’s pretty much a necessity in my case.”
Her frown deepened. “That rich?”
He nodded. “I have another confession to make.”
“And that is?”
He rubbed one eyebrow. “I only stayed in this hotel to be near you.”
As if that was news. “I know.”
“I actually own quite a spacious house here in town.”
She sat up, stunned, but not so shocked that she didn’t remember to pull the pillow into her lap to cover herself. “A house?”
“Nearby, actually.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I was afraid that if I gave you too much space you’d put up a wall, and I didn’t want to spend all our time together tearing it down again.”
All our time. A finite thing. Just moments removed from reality. She would soon be leaving this man behind her as completely as if he had never existed, which raised another question. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He sat up, looped an arm about her shoulders. “Stay with me. Come home with me. Give us this time together here in London.” She sighed, and he pressed. “Please. You know you want to. We’ll have such fun. I’ll make it magical, I promise.”
She couldn’t catch the smile that broke across her face. Magical was the word for what had taken place last night. “You sound like a little boy pleading for a treat.”
“The bed’s soft,” he whispered against her ear.
“I suppose there’s a fireplace in every room, too,” she quipped chidingly.
“Even the bath. Right next to the tub, which is huge, by the way.”
Her eyes almost crossed as she imagined what magic he could work there.
“We’d have a great deal more privacy,” he argued, “and it would be easier for me to take care of business from there. So I could spend more time with you.” He wound a finger in a lock of her hair, and she wondered why she was even pretending to dither w
hen she had every intention of agreeing.
“Oh, all right.”
It wasn’t a particularly gracious capitulation, but he practically whooped with glee. “I’ll call the desk and check us both out.”
“No! I don’t want to check out.”
“Why not?”
Because then everyone back home will know that we’re having an affair, she thought, but she only said, “Chalk it up to pride if you have to have a reason.”
He rolled his eyes. “I suppose that means you won’t even let me pay the bill.”
She folded her arms around the pillow. “Of course not.”
For some reason he laughed and kissed her quickly as he reached for the telephone. “You are special, do you know that? Unique among women, I suspect.”
She smiled inside. Outwardly she feared that she glowed, but she quashed it with a simple nod of her head. “I suppose I’d better pack a bag,” she said. “Could you take it along to your room when you go?”
“My bags are almost empty,” he said with a wry smile. “I never bring much with me since I keep a house here, and most of what I did bring, I left there. So you can use my luggage if you want. We’ll pick up yours later.”
She nodded and crawled out of the bed, holding the pillow lengthwise in front of her. “Well, what are you waiting for then? Run get the luggage.”
He bounded up, still naked. “I suppose you’ll have my head if I send a porter back with it.”
She let him know with a look how right he was. Chuckling, he yanked on his pants and shirt while she maneuvered into her robe, juggling that pillow. She got the sash belted just as he stuffed his bare feet into his dress shoes.
“I’ll be back as soon as I get cleaned up and make a few phone calls,” he told her.
“All right.”
He kissed her then and tugged at the end of her sash. “All that fancy footwork wasn’t necessary, you know. Your body is stunningly beautiful.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
“I like that you’re modest, actually.”
She rolled her eyes at that. She’d have said that modesty had gone out the window the night before. “You’re certainly not modest,” she said.
