Combustion (4 page)

Chapter Eight

Astrid practically ran back to her flat, as she always seemed to do when she was too excited to think straight. Of course! The idea had come to her while studying that ridiculous back massager. Why would her clients do it themselves if there were some kind of chair that did it for them? This was brilliant. Now she knew what she was designing, although it made her cheeks heat to consider it. A fucking machine. She was going to win the World's Fair with a fucking machine.

Now, what would that sort of device look like? Starting with the idea of the back massager, she first sketched out a chair with attachments. She worked on that idea for a while, figuring out where the parts would attach, what the structure would look like. When her sketch was mostly finished, she tried to look at it objectively. Ugh. Far too complicated, and also kind of frightening. Scrap that. She pulled over a new sheet of sketch paper.

If the woman were on her back, she could set up some kind of piston to move the shaft…but that would negate clitoral stimulation, so that was no good. Perhaps a frame she could position herself against? After roughing in the outlines, she knew right away she didn't like it. Too clunky, too inelegant.

Her third idea was a saddle of sorts. The woman could sit atop it. She tapped her pencil against her lips. Yes, that might work. Mind already racing ahead, she sketched as quickly as she could, adding more detail. Captivated by the concept, she pulled over another sheet of paper and began designing individual components, imagining the gearwork and levers needed to put this whole machine together.

When the lines began crossing in her vision, she checked the time. That late already? She had to get some rest. The next day would be busy—she'd crafted a few devices to drop off with clients, and her errands would likely take her all over town.

In bed, though, sleep refused to come, and it took several minutes to identify the sensation. While excited by her idea, it wasn't enough to keep her awake, not when she was this tired. Not until her thoughts drifted back to the handsome and presumptuous Eli Rutledge did she realize she was turned on.

Turned on by Eli Rutledge, of all people? The quintessential businessman, all propriety and housewares? Ridiculous. Astrid had enjoyed her share of sexual partners, but they were all casual dalliances, and none had begun with the hostility she'd felt toward Eli Rutledge.

That hostility had mostly faded, however, leaving emotions behind that were difficult to identify. How did she really feel about the man? He was arrogant, certainly, and seemed quite sure that a woman's place was in the kitchen; he was raised in privilege and had likely earned none of it; he would probably look down on her for being working-class. In the store, though, she had definitely caught him staring at her ass. The times were changing, certainly, but most men got to know her first before trying to undress her with their eyes.

Yet despite his arrogance, he wasn't hard to look at. His dark, curly hair matched his deep, dark eyes, and he had the tall, lean build she liked to imagine without that suit. His hands were strong and precise, and as she ran her hands down under the covers, she imagined how they would feel on her body. A watchmaker's hands, strong and deft, with nimble fingers to tweak a nipple, or stroke her clit, or slide deep into her sex.

She closed her eyes. No toys needed, that night, just her fingers and her fantasy. There was no harm in this purely physical response. She'd think of him and not feel guilty at all.

Chapter Nine

The queue at the World's Fair headquarters had not gone down at all since Astrid's last visit, and she had to wait for over an hour beneath her umbrella as the drizzling rain soaked the pavement around her. As the queue dragged on, she checked her watch every few moments, hoping the office wasn't going to close before she made it to the front. When she finally got inside the building, the older man with the mutton chop sideburns was sitting behind the table again. For all she knew, he might never have left.

“I have my paperwork.” Her voice sounded breathless with excitement, the chill of the damp day forgotten. Her umbrella dripped steadily onto the hardwood floor. She clutched the envelope of paperwork to her chest, her gateway into the World's Fair.

“Excellent.” The man slid a paper in front of him and dipped his ink pen, preparing to add her information to the long list of names and addresses. “And what organization will you be representing?”

She hesitated. “I… Well, I'm self-employed. I work out of my home on contract.”

He looked up. “So you don't have a shop?”

“I need a shop?”

Sideburn Man set down his pen onto the blotter and folded his meaty hands. “Miss, the World's Fair isn't open to just anyone.” His tone indicated he was explaining the most obvious fact to a child. “You need to either represent an established business or be endorsed by a prominent businessman. Do you meet either of those conditions?”

Astrid felt as though she were looking down at herself, a detached observer watching her dreams fall apart. She struggled to keep her voice steady. She would not cry in front of this man. “No.”

“I'm sorry, miss.” He gave her what was probably intended to be a kind smile, but instead looked forced and disinterested.

Maybe all hope was not yet lost. “Is there someone else with whom I can speak about this?” The effort to keep her voice from trembling was almost more than she could bear.

He shook his head. “I'm the Fair coordinator. It all stops with me.”

Astrid stared down at him for a long moment, not sure what to do, feeling as though her feet had become rooted to the spot. At last, the man leaned to one side and called past her, “Next?”

Astrid couldn't remember stepping out into the street, but she found herself there, still clutching the envelope to her chest as the drizzle and fog dampened her skin and clothes. Despite the chill, she let the umbrella hang beside her, preferring the cold as a distraction to her pain and frustration, appreciating the way the light rain hid the tears she couldn't hold at bay.

She didn't want to go home yet. She couldn't bear to sit and stare at her designs, so she tucked the damp envelope into her bag and continued walking through the streets. Her clothes grew wet, then soaked, but she felt the discomfort only dimly. The rain eventually let up and the streetlights turned on, illuminated dim circles on the wet sidewalk in the gathering dusk, and she stepped beneath an overhang to think.

Self-pity was not an emotion she liked to entertain. She hadn't cried when she'd gone into the orphanage, and she hadn't lingered on the disappointment when her first romance turned to naught. She hadn't wept or wallowed over the various men she'd taken to her bed over the years, nor slumped into sadness when her bills went unpaid or she went to bed hungry. Instead, she had learned how to survive. Over the years, she had learned that a first “no” was not always a final “no”. Standing under that overhang in the gathering dusk, she considered her options. There must be some kind of way around this. The Fair coordinator had mentioned that if she didn't have a shop of her own she could be endorsed by a prominent businessman.

Her mind went immediately to the one person who she knew was entering the Fair, the thought accompanied by a twist of annoyance, jealousy and some unpleasant emotion she couldn't really name. Was she really considering this? Maybe she wouldn't need his endorsement. Maybe he knew a loophole from his work with the London Business Council.

Stepping out from beneath the overhang, she headed with a resolute step toward Rutledge Fine Crafts and Handiworks.

Chapter Ten

The evening had been slow, and Eli had been fiddling with the same alarm clock for over an hour without any real focus. When the bell above the door dinged an arrival, he looked up, surprised, and when he saw who was standing there, his surprise only increased.

“Miss Bailey?” He set the alarm clock aside. “What brings you here on a night like this?”

Astrid looked as if she'd been walking in the rain for hours. Her hair lay flat against her scalp and forehead, her coat clinging wetly to her curves. An umbrella hung by her side, seemingly unopened, and her cheeks were flushed from cold. She didn't move from her position in front of the door, so he took her hands and brought her into the shop to stand by the fire. “You're soaked through. You know what this umbrella is for, right?”

Smiling slightly, Astrid set both bag and umbrella down on the mantel, turning to the fireplace to warm her hands. “Very funny. It hasn't been an easy day.”

In the red light from the fire, he could see that her eyes looked slightly puffy, as if she'd been crying. He felt an unfamiliar emotion in his breast, something that made his heart twist a bit, and he was filled with the sudden, ineffable urge to take her into his arms and comfort her properly. He suppressed the urge. “What's upsetting you?”

Either she didn't hear him or she ignored him, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire.

Eli brought up two chairs in the back, and they sat together in front of the fire for a few minutes in silence. As the moments passed, he began to feel restless. Was she ever going to tell him why she was there?

“I need to ask you something, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Eli. Call me Eli.”

“Eli.” She turned her chair slightly to face him. Half her face was in shadow, the rest lit by the fire. “I suppose you should call me Astrid.”

“All right, Astrid.” He enjoyed the way her name felt on his lips. “What's your question?”

“How did you get into the World's Fair?”

It wasn't the question he'd expected of her, although to be fair, he wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting. “I'm not sure what you mean. Anyone can get the paperwork. I thought you picked yours up yesterday.”

Astrid shook her head. Her lip trembled, but then she pressed her lips more firmly together and the trembling stopped. After a pause in which she seemed to be composing herself, she spoke again. “They wouldn't take my paperwork. I don't have a reputable business, and I'm not endorsed by anyone, so I can't enter.”

What a silly regulation. “That's ridiculous. You have a business, so you should be able to enter. Can't you get one of your clients to sponsor you?”

Was it a trick of the eye, or did he see her color slightly?

“I don't think that will work. I'd have to disclose the nature of my project, and it's not something that would interest any of the businessmen in this town.” She looked down at her hands. “I thought you might know some sort of loophole.”

He scooted his chair a bit closer to hers and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don't know of one. I'm sorry.”

Astrid leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest with a sigh. “Well, then, I hope you have great luck in the Fair. I'm sure you'll put out something very impressive.”

Eli felt a familiar twinge of anxiety. “That seems to be what everyone expects.”

“Well, bully for you.”

Her rudeness both surprised him and nearly made him laugh. “It's a lot of pressure. What's your idea?”

Astrid crossed her legs at the knee and raised an eyebrow, settling back a bit more in the high-backed chair. “I'm not giving you my idea. The last thing I need is some upstart businessman taking all the credit for my invention.”

Upstart? He couldn't help but smile. “I'm not an upstart. I have an established business here.”

“Then what's
your
idea? Since you're so established and all, I mean.” After unfolding her arms, she began drumming her fingers on the arms of the chair. “You don't have to worry about me stealing it, after all, since I'm apparently a nobody. So what's the brilliant idea that everyone can't wait to see?”

The anxiety flared up a bit more, mixed with sheepishness. How much did she suspect? “I asked you first.”

“I'm not telling you my idea.” Astrid shook her head.

“But you do have one.”

“Yes. I have one. Blueprints and all.”

Eli sat back in his chair, counting on the shadows to hide his expression, which he knew was conflicted. Was he going to tell her the truth? Watching her sitting across from him, a sensual mix of indignation and vulnerability, he felt the urge to confide in her. “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

Astrid seemed to consider the prospect, narrowing her eyes a bit in thought. “All right.”

Eli threaded his fingers together and looked down at his hands. “I don't have an idea.”

To her credit, she didn't laugh, but the amusement in her voice was unmistakable. “I'm sorry?”

Repeating it was more humiliating. “I don't have an idea for the World's Fair. I took all the paperwork, and I've been hearing how excited everyone is to see my invention, after the work I put into all my clocks and housewares and everything else in this shop, but I don't have an idea for the World's Fair.” He finally made eye contact. “Thank you for not laughing at me.”

Her smile irked him. “It's kind of hard not to. You have no idea how much this should make me happy.”

“Why should my unhappiness make you happy?”

“Because I hate you!” She threw her hands up in the air with the exclamation, although her tone was one of much more exasperation than hate. “You're rich and successful, and you have a shop, and I have to get by on these little commissioned jobs that, quite frankly, pay like shit.”

His jaw dropped. “You have a mouth on you, Miss Astrid Bailey.”

“So I always heard.”

“You shouldn't hate me. I told you an honest fact, that I don't have an idea for the World's Fair. I think that puts us on equal footing, don't you?”

Her response was snappy. “How about I send you some of my bills, and then we can be on equal footing?” After a moment, though, the tension seemed to drain out of her. When her posture relaxed, Eli felt as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“You're not an easy man to keep hating, but I'm going to try.”

“You can suit yourself.” He found himself smiling despite the topic of their conversation.

“It's a bit ridiculous, you know.” Astrid turned her chair more to face him. “Ironic, if you will. You have the exact opposite problem as me. I have an idea and no respectability. You have the respectability and no idea.”

He stared at her, stunned by the realization that came from her statement. Of course. The idea was so obvious he was surprised he hadn't considered it before. “You know, we could team up.”

She blanched. “What?”

“Team up. We'll work on your invention together. Your idea and my good name. If we win, we'll split the prize money.”

“Whoa, wait.” She jumped to her feet. “Even if I agreed to that, and I'm not, because it's ludicrous, that's not a fair split. I'm providing all the inspiration, and you're only giving me an entry opportunity.”

What else could he provide for her that she couldn't get for herself? “I can get you a workshop. Some place other than your flat? And I'll help fund all the parts. I'll work on it with you, fifty-fifty. That's fair.”

Astrid began pacing back and forth in front of the fire, brow furrowed. “Except I hate you.”

Oh yes, that little detail. “Right, except that.” Would she really rather not enter at all than partner up with him? “I think I'm your best chance here, Astrid. Unless you still want to try and get sponsored by another local businessman.” There, he played his trump card. He'd addressed the fact that she clearly didn't want to share her idea. Sharing with him had to be better than sharing with a complete stranger, right? “Otherwise, your idea may be wonderful, but it's never getting into the World's Fair.”

Astrid stopped right behind her chair, her nails pressing into the lush green velvet. Her brow furrowed as she seemed to weigh all her options, and a few times, he saw her gaze rake over him from head to toe. Finally, her shoulders relaxed. “All right. I guess you have a point.”

There, he had her. Eli stood, trying not to look so excited. “So tell me. I promise, I won't steal your idea.”

Astrid looked away into the fire, her profile aglow, and began tracing her fingers across the back of the chair. “It's not that.” She paused for so long he thought she wasn't going to continue, until she finally did. “Before we start, you should know that I'm not the kind of machinist you might expect.”

“Okay. So what kind of machinist are you?”

Astrid cast him a sly smile and stepped a bit closer, coming around the back of the chair and walking right up to him in front of the fire. His mouth went dry as she took the lapels of his coat in her hands, drawing him even closer and looking up at him with mischief in her eyes. “I'm progressive.”

She wore a half smile, the very tip of her tongue pressed to her top lip. Such deliciously full lips. Without moving away, Astrid reached into her bag on the mantel and withdrew a small brass cylinder with a narrow tip, the likes of which Eli had never seen. He took the device from her and turned it over in his hand.

It was a plain brass cylinder, as far as he could tell. What was it, some kind of lipstick or face paint? He held it up to the firelight, puzzled, and finally handed it back to her. “I don't understand. This is your invention?”

“Yes.” And she spun a dial at the bottom of the device.

Eli jumped when the small device began to hum, vibrating intensely in her hand. All right, so it did that. This still didn't make much sense. Then, Astrid reached up and touched the tip of the cylinder to his collarbone, right where the white collar of his shirt met the lapel of his coat.

He twitched away. “Wait. That's…” His voice trailed off as she moved the bullet back and forth along his neck, then to the other side.

“Nice?” Astrid didn't look away from his eyes, her very gaze challenging him to pull back, to call her on her inappropriate behavior. The problem was, her actions felt so good that he had no intention of stopping her, propriety be damned.

“Very nice.” His voice sounded breathless in his own ears. Astrid reached up to run the device along the back of his neck, wrapping her arm up and over his shoulders, bringing her body very close to his. He was losing his focus, his entire thought process swept away into her flowery smell and some very improper thoughts about what she might look like under all those clothes.

“I invented this.” Astrid returned the toy to his collarbone, and he swallowed, saw her watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

Clearly, there was something he didn't understand, some missing piece to this puzzle. So she created a neck massager? “I don't think I understand, Astrid.”

Rather than pull away, she continued to touch him with the brass cylinder, moving it in small circles in the center of his chest, meeting his eyes with her own. The arousal in his body was palpable, and only through supreme self-control could he keep its physical signs at bay.

Astrid looked down at the center of his chest, where she was still drawing patterns across his shirt. “I get lonely sometimes, Eli, and I like this device. I like it very much.” And she slid the vibrator over to one side, ghosting over his nipple.

Oh, holy fuck. Eli jumped backward as if stung, his mouth falling open, one hand automatically moving to his chest, then clenching into a fist. He wasn't going to touch his own nipple right in front of her. Astrid still wore that devious smile, and as he looked at her, he began to understand. Images ran through his mind: Astrid lying on her bed, naked, that same little cylinder pressing down between her legs, her back arching in ecstasy. No wonder she didn't tell people about her business. Machines for women, indeed.

Regaining his composure, he stepped back in closer. If she was going to play dirty, then he could be her match. As he took the device from her, her eyes widened in surprise.

He turned the still-buzzing cylinder over in his hand and watched it gleam in the firelight. “So this is yours. You make these?”

“And others like it. A whole range.”

“I see.” As he felt the vibrations, he knew he wanted some turnabout, to unseat her as she'd unseated him. His cock was throbbing against his pants, and when he drew closer, he wondered if she'd notice and found that he didn't much care.

“I'll bet it gives nice massages.” He touched it lightly to her neck, and her mouth opened a bit, as if she couldn't believe what he was doing.

“It does.”

Was it his imagination, or did her voice tremble a bit? Without breaking eye contact, he moved the toy down, sliding it inch by inch over her breastbone, then down her corset, past each hook in the front, tracing it all the way to her skirt. How much would she let him get away with? How much did he have the nerve to try? When he brushed the juncture of her thighs, she grasped his lapels to steady herself, her eyes fluttering closed in a way that sent even more blood to his impossibly hard cock. It seemed she wasn't going to stop him at all.

Before he could let himself go too far, he pulled away and switched off the vibrator, pressing it into her hand. “You have quite a naughty little toy there.”

Astrid blinked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, gathering her composure. “I have more.”

Was that an offer? He opened his mouth, ready to ask to see them, then paused as sense came flooding back. He was a respectable businessman, a member of the London Business Council, a prominent and upstanding citizen. Could he really afford to get involved in something like this? He wasn't the kind of man who threw tradition to the wind and jumped on board with a new business venture. Ideas had to be drafted, refined, tested, proved. Astrid was unpredictable, wild, adventurous…everything he wasn't. His throat seemed to close up.