Avery had dressed in a calf-length gown of some ice-blue material that draped and floated over her body, the almost Grecian lines of it exposed the top curve of her breasts and the delicacy of her collarbone and shoulders. He was hard-pressed not to push her straight back into her room and onto the four-poster bed behind her. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he forced himself not to reach for her but he had far less control over the rest of his body and he felt his blood heat and thicken, thrumming with a slow deep pulse that sent desire southward.
“Shall we?” he said, offering her his arm—all too aware of her slender fingers as they rested on the fine cloth of his dinner jacket.
“I’m glad you could come with me,” she said as they negotiated their way down the massive sweeping staircase that led to the ground floor.
Before he could respond, they were greeted by several of the other guests who’d already assembled. It wasn’t long before Avery was swept up in a dance of greeting everyone and introducing him. He couldn’t help but notice how, despite all the hugs and air kisses, she looked more embattled and beleaguered than welcomed. Here and there he caught snippets of conversation. Nothing he could call snide, but certainly not a hundred-percent friendly, either.
Obviously there were many here tonight who had known Avery through her family, and she was far more relaxed among them, but it wasn’t long before he started to sense a theme in the conversation of the people who called themselves her friends. Each of them had expressed condolences on the loss of her father, but they’d also hastened to say how much they were looking forward to her being back in the swing of things. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out just how many of them were using her—either as a meal ticket to a good night out or for other reasons. He lost count of the number of times somebody asked her to introduce them to someone else.
Sure, he got the idea of networking. He was adept at it himself. He sure hadn’t got where he was today without becoming a grand master at it. But when it came to Avery he began to feel annoyed at how she was letting herself be used by these people.
“Is there anyone here who is actually your friend?” he asked after she had introduced one particularly acerbic young woman to a man Marcus recognized as the CEO of one of the major banking corporations.
“Ouch,” Avery said mockingly. “You think I don’t have any friends?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. It just feels like everyone here has an ulterior motive and they’re all using you to get what they want.”
“And aren’t we all doing that?” Avery asked quietly. “They’re here to support my charity so I have an ulterior motive also, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled and shrugged those graceful shoulders. “It’s all part of the game, Marcus. Don’t tell me you haven’t played it yourself. We do what we must.”
She was drawn away by their hostess to greet some newcomers and Marcus found himself leaning against a colonnade and sipping his glass of French champagne alone, Avery’s words echoing in his head. We do what we must. And wasn’t he doing what he must do? Doing what he owed his grandfather for the sacrifices the old man had made for him? Didn’t the end, in his case, justify the means?
But as hard as he tried to convince himself he wasn’t like the sycophants who’d clustered around Avery for the better part of the evening, he couldn’t deny that he was equally guilty, and the truth didn’t sit comfortably on his shoulders. He knew she was attracted to him—her reaction in the pool the other morning was nothing if not incendiary—and he knew her type. She didn’t get involved in a physical liaison just for the fun of it. She was the kind of woman who gave everything when she gave herself—heart and soul. He didn’t do love. It wasn’t part of his plan.
Love had seen his mother blinded to his father’s faults. Had seen her addicted to drugs and had seen her take the fall for his father during a deal gone bad. Love had destroyed her. He didn’t want to hurt Avery and he knew, deep down, if they embarked upon an affair it was inevitable that he would.
If only she’d agree to sell the collection, he could then arrange to buy Lovely Woman anonymously and walk away before he inadvertently broke her heart.
Seven
Avery surreptitiously watched from across the table as Marcus chatted with the people who’d been seated around him at the formal dinner. He did so with incredible flair, charming the matrons, impressing the older gentlemen and clearly gathering a fan following of his own among the younger women and certainly some of the not so young. Yet every now and then he’d lift his gaze and search the room for her, nodding slightly and giving her a faint smile when their eyes would meet. It gave Avery a warm feeling deep inside. A feeling that finally began to chase away the darkness that had filled her since her father’s death.
That she desired Marcus was a given. Every time she saw him her heart hammered a little faster in her chest, her nerve endings became that much more attuned to his every move. It only took the brush of his hand against hers while they had stood talking, earlier, to send an electrical zing through her body. But it went beyond the physical. Despite his air of polish she sensed that there was something about him, something that he tried to guard so carefully, that made her want to understand him more.
She thought about what had brought Marcus into her life and wondered if she was doing the right thing in holding out on selling the collection. In all honesty, what was she really hanging on to? An assembly of canvasses by Impressionist masters added to over the years by an avid collector. And why had her father collected them? The answer was simple, because of the joy they gave him.
Ted Wells’s words came back to haunt her. Did she really think her father loved her any less than the works of art? When she examined her feelings truthfully she had to admit that, deep down, she knew her father had loved her. She also knew that, as the image of her mother, seeing her on a daily basis had only reinforced for him the loss they’d both endured when her mother had passed away. Holding on to the collection wouldn’t make a difference to the past, it wouldn’t change her childhood. If anything, letting it go would honor her father’s memory and his acumen in assembling the collection as he had.
As Avery reached for her wineglass and took a sip of the excellent vintage from the castle’s enviable cellars she realized she’d made a decision. And that decision filled her with an excitement she had rarely felt before. She would release the collection for sale. It was the right thing to do. And Marcus Price was the right man to represent it. Now, she just needed to find the right time to tell him.
* * *
It was late on Saturday evening before they returned to Avery’s Kensington home. The silent auction of the children’s work had been an outstanding success and, combined with the proceeds of the gala dinner the night before, the charity was well funded for the coming year. Avery fought back a yawn as they approached her house.
“Tired?” Marcus asked, lifting one hand from the steering wheel to stroke the back of her hand.
“A bit,” she admitted.
Although last night had been a late one by her usual standards, it was her excitement over her decision to sell the collection that had kept her awake through the night. Concentrating on the setup for the auction this morning had been a welcome distraction as she tried to work out the best time to let Marcus know of her decision. To her it was so momentous she didn’t want to just blurt it out, and she wanted him to know that she trusted him implicitly to do the very best job he could.
Already she had an idea for the funds the sale would raise. While the charity that had benefited from this weekend’s dinner and auction was well set up, it rented spaces for the children in various communities. What if the charity had purpose-designated buildings at its disposal? Her mind had boggled at the idea, her thoughts expanding to the additional number of children whose talent they’d be able to foster with more dedicated space.
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br /> Once they were inside her house, Avery decided the time was right to give Marcus her news. Their bags had been taken up to their rooms and Mrs. Jackson had arranged a light supper for them in one of the downstairs parlors.
When they’d finished their meal and each were relaxing over a glass of wine, Avery took the bit in her teeth.
“Marcus, I’ve been thinking,” she started.
“About the statue? Look, I’m sorry we haven’t been able to turn anything new up for you yet but I’m still hopeful that at least one of the feelers I’ve put out will bring us a reward.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I’ve made a final decision about Dad’s collection.”
Marcus put his wineglass down carefully on the table beside him and faced her. She could see the tension in his face—the hope that warred with the anticipated disappointment.
“And that would be?” he prompted.
“I’ve decided to sell, and I’d like you, and Waverly’s, to handle the sale for me.”
He let go an audible breath and Avery searched his face for an expression of triumph. Instead there was nothing. His expression was as unreadable to her as a Sanskrit script.
“You’re certain about this?” he asked.
A flare of irritation burned inside her. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Hadn’t he harangued her on the phone and by email for months for this very result? Why wasn’t he happier about it?
“Of course I’m certain. It makes good sense for it to be available to people who would appreciate the art.”
“You could do that by loaning it to a gallery or a museum,” he pointed out, still with that neutral expression on his face.
“I thought you wanted to sell it. Have you changed your mind?” she demanded, getting up to pace the floor in her frustration.
Marcus rose from his seat and put his hands out to grab her shoulders, turning her to face him.
“I haven’t changed my mind, but I am curious about why you’ve changed yours. I won’t deny it, Avery. Selling your father’s collection would be a career milestone for me, but I want you to be doing it because you’re ready.”
“If I wasn’t ready I wouldn’t have said I was,” she said, still annoyed that he hadn’t acted as if he was overjoyed to get the commission. “I’ve been thinking about it and I realized my reasons for holding on to the paintings weren’t as important as I thought they were.”
“What reasons were they?” he coaxed, his hands drifting from her shoulders to her upper arms and then back again.
“You probably understand as well as anybody how much that collection meant to my father. Adding to it consumed him for years. When he decided to release the occasional piece, he only did so after much deliberation and soul-searching, not to mention after vetting the prospective buyer thoroughly. He could tell you everything about each painting, right down to the last brush stroke. He loved them like they were his babies.”
She saw understanding dawn in Marcus’s eyes and she hated that he understood and could see her vulnerability so easily.
“You think he loved them more than he loved you?”
“I used to, yes. Somehow, holding on to the collection made me feel as if I was closer to him.” She drew in a shuddering breath before continuing. “I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day with me but it took something Ted said the other day to make me realize that keeping the paintings didn’t serve anyone, least of all me.”
“Ted?”
“The gardener. I barely know the guy, and yet he could give me more insight in a few minutes than I had the sense to find myself in the months since Dad died.”
“Sometimes it’s easier for someone on the outside to see the big picture,” Marcus said, pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms around her.
It felt right to be here in his arms. Safe. And all too tempting. She rested her cheek against his chest, inhaling his scent deep into her lungs, listening to the steady beat of his heart and allowing herself to calm to the rhythm of his body.
“So are you going to accept my offer to represent the collection?” she asked. “Or should I approach someone else?”
She felt the muscles of his chest stiffen beneath her cheek, then relax once more as he realized she was only teasing him.
“Of course I will. I can go over the contract now if you like.”
She shook her head slightly. “No, not right now. Don’t worry, though, I won’t change my mind. There’s something else I want to ask of you.”
“Something else? What’s that?”
“Will you make love to me?”
* * *
Marcus heard a buzzing sound in his ears and realized he had yet to take a breath. He lifted a hand to stroke the side of Avery’s face, pushing aside a wisp of hair.
“Are you certain?”
She smiled. “Do you really not trust me to know my own mind? Seems to me you have a lot of questions tonight, when you really should be taking action.”
He laughed, hardly daring to believe his luck. First the collection, now this. He was no man’s fool and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not one as beautiful as Avery.
“You’re right. I’m an idiot. But never let it be said that I need to learn my lessons twice,” he growled before taking her lips in a searing kiss.
She gave as good as she got, pushing her hands into his short hair and holding him to her as if she was a woman drowning. As if he were the beginning and the end of all her hopes and dreams. The responsibility of it threatened to overwhelm him. While his earlier research had proven she was known on the social circuit, she’d had a sheltered upbringing and she definitely wore her emotions close to the surface. He’d avoided women like her before, mentally tagging them as too needy for his tastes—but then never before had he been so captivated. By taking her to bed, he was stepping into uncharted territory.
The taste of her was intoxicating and reason soon fell to the back of his mind as her tongue traced the shape of his lips before brushing against his own. She allowed him entry to her mouth, suckling at his tongue in a way that sent an aching throb of desire straight to his groin. A throb that set up an insistent beat through his veins.
Reluctantly Marcus withdrew from her embrace, catching one of her hands in his. He wanted her with a fierce need he couldn’t remember ever feeling before, but he wasn’t going to make their first time on a rug on a sitting-room floor—no matter how priceless that hand-knotted rug might be. He tugged her toward the door and they made it up the stairs to his room where he shoved the door closed behind them.
Once there he took her in his arms again, backing her slowly toward the bed, pulling her blouse from the waistband of her skirt as he did so, his fingers fumbling as they fought to unfasten her buttons. She was busy also, jerking his belt loose from his trousers, before undoing the catch at his waist and sliding his zipper down. And, then, oh, God, her hand clasped him through his briefs. It was agony and pleasure in one delectable grip.
From there, to naked, their actions were a blur. All he knew was he had to get her on that bed, had to get inside her, had to sate this near unquenchable need that drove him. Her gasp as their legs tangled and they fell backward onto the bed seared through his senses, reminding him of her fragility, her softness. He hauled back on his desire, promising himself he could slake his lust eventually, but not before he’d taken the time to make sure she was with him every deliciously excruciating step of the way.
His hands skimmed the gentle curve of her waist, up toward her rib cage and to the lower swell of her breasts. She gasped anew as his fingertips toyed with her breasts, the soft pink of her nipples deepening ever so slightly as the skin puckered. He bent his head to one taut bud, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before blowing a cool breath over the moistened skin. She squirme
d beneath him, a moan falling from her lips, her hands fluttering to his shoulders, her nails embedding in his skin. He welcomed the sensation, basking briefly in the pleasure-pain of it before taking her nipple between his teeth and biting gently in response.
Her hips lifted off the bed, her mound brushing against his erection and sending a jolt all the way up his spine. It was enough to make him mindless but he couldn’t let go to his craving, not yet. He opened his mouth a little more, his tongue laving her nipple before drawing it into his mouth, suckling alternately hard, then soft before paying the same care and attention to her other breast.
Avery’s body shook with tension, and he glided one hand down her body, over her hip and down her thigh before moving back up again. Again and again he touched her, his hands coming ever closer, yet never quite reaching, the center of her. He could feel her heat, smell the heady musky warmth of her, and when he let his fingers brush over her most sensitive bud her hands clutched convulsively at his shoulders once more.
“You’re torturing me,” she groaned.
“Would you like me to stop?” he teased.
“No, don’t you dare!”
Marcus chuckled softly then dipped his head lower, letting his mouth, his tongue, traverse the same path his hand had taken. He didn’t know for whom it was the most torment. Avery, with the way her body tautened and quaked, reaching for the release his touch promised to give her, or himself for all that his body implored him to simply take her and plunge them both into the maelstrom of pleasure that awaited just strokes away. It was the goal of that mutual satisfaction that kept him focused, that kept him from losing control. He wanted to make this as good as he possibly could for her—better than anything she’d experienced before.
He nuzzled the fine thatch of blond hair at the apex of her thighs before darting his tongue out to flick her clitoris. She didn’t disappoint, her hips rose toward him and he grasped them with both hands, holding her firm, exactly where he wanted her. His tongue swirled around the pink pearl of nerve endings—once, twice—until he himself could take it no longer and he closed his mouth over her, suckling hard. He knew the exact moment she let go, felt the waves that crashed through her body, heard her scream of release as she bowed away from the bed, her body locked in a paroxysm of pleasure.
A Silken Seduction Page 7
