Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (24 page)

“Ian?” she asked shakily when he plucked another grape. Her eyes widened when he pushed the dusky purple fruit between her labia and pressed it against her clit, up and down, around and around. He pressed hard. The grape’s skin broke, cool juice running over her feverish flesh.

“You said it yourself. I need to eat, too,” he said gruffly before he lowered his head between her thighs and began to feast with a suddenly ravenous appetite.

Chapter Ten

“O
h God,” she muttered, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her fingers threaded into his thick dark hair, holding him against the very core of her while Ian worked his magic. He pushed at the back of her thighs and her feet came off the bed. She abandoned herself to pleasure, her consciousness drowning in it. His mouth and tongue were wet, firm, and delicious on her sex. The whiskers on his moving jaw agitated the tender flesh of her inner thighs, the low-grade burn amplifying her arousal. Despite her rapture, Ian’s focus on making love to her was even more intense. When the pounding started at the cottage front door, it penetrated her awareness before it did Ian’s.

“Ian, stop,” she gasped. She scraped her nails against his scalp to get his attention. He rubbed her clit with a stiffened tongue and she moaned, pushing her to him despite what she’d said. The knocking resumed. She heard someone call Ian’s name. “Ian, it’s your grandfather.
Ian
.”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. Her clit twanged in deprivation from pleasure and acute longing when she saw how beautiful he looked, his lower face slick with her juices, his eyelids heavy with arousal, the slits of his blue eyes burning with a barely banked flame. He blinked and for a moment he seemed to come back to reality. His nostrils flared and he inhaled, undoubtedly catching her scent. He gave her pussy a blazing glance and cursed before he rolled off the bed.

“I’ll go and see what he wants,” he said, grabbing his shirt and shoving his arms through the sleeves. He wiped off his face with the napkin near his plate. “You stay here. And don’t you
dare
get dressed,” he grated out with a hard glance before he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Despite his pointed warning, she did get up and scurry into her clothing, James’s voice resounding from the nearby living room leaving her feeling self-conscious. Besides, she could hear what he was telling Ian.

The front door slammed closed. A moment later, Ian walked into the bedroom. She sat at the edge of the bed, putting on her boots. His gaze ran over her clothed body. He frowned.

“You heard?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his socks and shoes and sitting on a chair to put them on. “I left my phone at the house because I didn’t want to be disturbed coming out here. But you know how Lin gets when she’s on a mission. There’s been a couple glitches with the press conference tomorrow, and I need to get back and deal with them. She couldn’t reach me, so she called the house phone and spoke to Grandfather. After I deal with those things, I really should work on a statement for tomorrow.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said truthfully, tying the lace on her boots. She could just imagine the gargantuan task laid before Lin of coordinating a press conference on a day’s notice from across the ocean.

“You’ll come back with me?” he said, standing.

She gave him a knowing, wry glance. It wasn’t really a question. He didn’t want her out here alone. She sighed, not feeling up to arguing with him after their intimate, stolen moments together.

“Okay. I can firm up the sketches I’ve done so far up at the house,” she conceded, putting on her coat and standing to grab her things. He finished dressing and waited for her near the door. He remained unmoving when she approached. She stood before him and looked up at him solemnly.

He touched her cheek. “I hate it when we have to part.”

She blinked, recognizing he was speaking about their interrupted lovemaking, but so much more.

“We don’t have to be apart,” she said softly, feeling his stare and stroking finger in places beyond the flesh. “Not in any permanent sense of the word. Not unless you choose it.”

“I didn’t choose any of this. Fate did. I’m just trying to deal with the fallout.”

“You’re wrong,” she replied steadfastly. “You can choose, Ian. Your past? Or your future.”

He dropped his hand. She sensed his rising frustration at their disagreement, but she didn’t apologize. She started to move past him to the hallway, but he caught her arm.

He pulled her against him, his kiss possessive . . . hungry. She understood that he was reaffirming his right to touch her that way, and she reciprocated without hesitation. Her still-aroused sex throbbed. The time for pretending she didn’t crave him—love him—with every ounce of her being had passed. She figured the realization had hit when she’d stood in the woods sketching earlier, wrestling with her warring emotions, and heard him calling for her, so desperate in his need.

* * *

Elise came to visit with her in her suite early that afternoon, bringing the sad news that Lucien and she planned to return to Chicago the day after tomorrow.

“Lucien hinted very vaguely that he and Ian might take a trip together sometime in the near future,” Elise said as she looked over Francesca’s shoulder at her completed sketches. “Do you have any idea where they are going?”

Francesca glanced back at Elise uneasily. “No. I don’t know precisely what they might be doing or where they are going, but I can tell you, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

They’d agreed that the brothers were likely doing something associated with Trevor Gaines, and Elise didn’t appear very pleased about the concept of the upcoming trip, either.

After Elise left to go riding, Francesca had gotten down to about an hour of some serious sketching, rising out of her trance at around three o’clock. She was restless. This was about the time Mrs. Hanson often took her tea, and Francesca had grown in the habit of sitting with her in Ian’s kitchen while she’d spent so much time in the penthouse. It was a tradition she missed.

She was walking down the grand staircase, planning on going to the kitchen, when she saw Ian crossing the Great Hall toward the front doors with that familiar long-legged, purposeful stride. Her heart did its typical jump upon seeing him unexpectedly. She noticed he’d shaved and changed his shirt since they were out at the cottage. How he managed to look so distinct and sophisticated and elementally male at once never ceased to fascinate her.

He turned and paused when she called out to him.

“Where are you off to?” she asked, approaching.

His blue eyes flickered over her body, lingering on her breasts. She’d showered after her return from the cottage and changed clothing. His small smile was like a warm, sexual caress. Their differing backgrounds and styles of dressing had been a point of self-consciousness and awkwardness on Francesca’s part since the beginning of their relationship. Ian, on the other hand, was typically sublimely nonchalant in regard to how she dressed, expecting everyone to treat her like a queen no matter how she was garbed.

I want you to know that I am far from being critical of your appearance. Whether you’re in pearls or your Cubs T-shirt, I find you to be extremely attractive. Perhaps you haven’t noticed?

She shared his smile at the memory of him saying those words to her in that dry, sardonic tone of his.

“I don’t have the type of clothing in storage here at Belford that I’d like for the press conference,” he said. “I packed light for my stay. A haberdasher I know in Belford is going to set me up and deliver a suit in the morning. Speaking of clothing,” he said, his gaze rising from the red
C
logo on the T-shirt she wore to her face. “I see you’re wearing one of my favorite outfits.”

She laughed and his smile widened. It felt so good, sharing a lover’s inside joke with him.

“May I come along?” she asked impulsively.

He hesitated, glancing at the heavy, carved front door. She had the impression he’d rather keep her behind that locked entrance.

“It’ll be a quick trip, and boring to boot,” he warned.

“No it won’t. I’ll be with you.”

His mouth tilted. His gaze was so warm on her. He was considering denying her, nevertheless; she could tell. She went up on her toes, brushing the front of her body against his solid form, and pressed her mouth to his, shameless in her attempt to convince him. That’s all it took, and his arms were satisfyingly surrounding her as he took control, returning her kiss with blistering heat.

“You shouldn’t take so much pride in being convincing,” he said a moment later, his gaze scanning her face.
Her toes had curled from his kiss. She forced them to relax now while she waited anxiously to see if he’d take her along.

Triumph zipped through her blood when he sighed, took her hand and led her to the front door.

* * *

The front door closed. Gerard walked out from behind the grand staircase and crossed the hall. He opened a paneled door and slipped into James’s private office. It was empty. He walked over to James’s large desk—an antique that had been passed from one Earl of Stratham to the next for the past five generations. It should have been one of Gerard’s many belongings when James was gone. As things stood, although Gerard would be the next earl, James had decreed that this treasured desk along with everything else would be Ian’s.

The Noble ancestors must be turning in their graves.

Screw James, Gerard thought as he slid open the right-hand drawer and lifted the lid of a red leather box. He smiled grimly upon seeing what was stored there.

He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Brodsik’s number.

“This is it. They’re going into town. Francesca is with him,” he merely said when a man answered the phone. He listened, frowning. “You idiot. I told you to stay close by to take advantage whenever the opportunity arose. Well it’s not my fault you partnered with a fool. How do I know where Stern has disappeared to? He’s your friend. No,
no
,” Gerard interrupted bitterly. “I will not discuss your little blackmail scheme at the moment.” He was outraged at the concept of a such a grubby, moronic criminal trying to manipulate him, but Brodsik would pay. In fact, Stern had already outlived his use, and Brodsik would very soon.

He paused, listening to Brodsik’s defense for asking him for extra money beyond his fee. “Well I’d certainly call it a bribe, considering you’re threatening me with exposure if I don’t agree to your demands,” Gerard replied wryly. “I’ve told you I’d have your money tomorrow. It takes more than a few hours to come up with that much cash. For now, do you still work for me, or not?” He paused, his mouth curled into a snarl. “Good. You know what to do right now. You’ll have time to make it back to Stratham while they’re at the tailor in town. Noble shouldn’t be in there for more than an hour. The sun will still be up if you get your ass back here quick enough. Remember, I want Francesca to see you. What? Yes, we’re still meeting tonight at the usual place in town. I’ll have a Belford passkey for you. Were you able to purchase it?” He listened for a moment. “Good, because you’ll need that gun tomorrow, won’t you?”

He hung up and checked his watch. He had at least an hour, probably closer to two. Ian’s paranoia was such that he locked the door to his suite even in his childhood home. Whatever he kept on his computer must be valuable, indeed. In his illicit observance thus far, Gerard saw little else being kept in the room that might warrant so much caution on Ian’s part. Most of Gerard’s allotted time would be spent using his inexpert knowledge of lock picking to get past the door. Still, the locks on the Belford suites were not complicated mechanisms, intended for privacy from servants more than actual security. He’d manage it, he thought grimly as he hurried up the stairs.

* * *

She enjoyed the short visit to the tailor, not at all agreeing with Ian’s warning that she’d find it boring. What could be boring about watching a beautiful, sexy man be expertly fitted for a suit?

Mr. Rappaport, the owner of the haberdashery, seemed very eager indeed to provide a service to the Earl of Stratham’s illustrious grandson. Francesca came to understand that he’d occasionally made suits for Ian when he was a child and young man. Mr. Rappaport pulled a chair up for Francesca in the luxurious working area outside the dressing rooms. He politely provided her with a magazine and a cup of tea, which held her interest, until Ian came out of the dressing area, that is, and stood in front of the triple mirrors. The magazine article was forgotten as she watched the gray-haired tailor—who was so petite, Ian looked like a giant in comparison to him—scuttle about, taking measurements and marking up the suit. Ian lifted his stark white shirt while the tailor took his waist measurement, and Francesca’s attention redoubled. The pants hung on his frame loosely, emphasizing his lean, cut abdomen and the narrow trail of dark hair that ran from his taut belly button beneath the waistband of the pants.

Ian had been present on several occasions when he’d had dressmakers come and fit her for clothing, and had somehow found his quiet, focused observance of the ritual arousing. She’d never had the privilege of watching him endure the process, however.

She sensed Ian’s eyes on her in the mirror as Mr. Rappaport began to measure his inseam.

“And you dress to the left, if I recall correctly?” the tailor asked briskly.

“Correct,” Ian said, holding Francesca’s stare. She frowned slightly, confused by the tailor’s question. It took her a second to puzzle out that the tailor was asking which way Ian’s cock rode in his pants, so as to allot for the volume in his measurements. Ian must have noticed her eyes widening as understanding struck, because she saw his lips tilt in amusement in the mirror.

After he’d finished, Mr. Rappaport scurried out of the dressing area when an assistant called to him. Francesca blinked in surprise at the vision of Ian stalking over to her, now wearing only the trousers and a partially buttoned shirt.

Her breath caught. She recognized that gleam in his blue eyes.

He leaned down, trapping her by placing his hands on the arms of the velvet chair. He swooped, capturing her mouth in a scalding kiss that soon had her forgetting where they were and everything but his possessive mouth and addictive taste.

“You’re going to get it later, for getting me hard while I was in such a vulnerable situation,” he muttered against her lips a moment later.