Daring In a Blue Dress (10 page)

“Well?” she said, tipping her head to the side.

Of course she wasn't hinting that she wanted to sleep with him. She had just been kind earlier in kissing him, the act meant as a form of therapy. Highly erotic, enjoyable therapy. Nothing more.

“Alden?”

“Hmm?” No, what he needed to do was turn his room over to her, so she could spend the night in mouse-free comfort. He'd offer to take her room, instead, and thus would martyr himself on the altar of chivalry. Dammit, his dressing gown was all the way across the room next to the door to the bathroom. He supposed that if he rose while clutching the duvet to him, he could manage to scuttle crablike to the door, snagging his dressing gown en route.

“Are you going to ask me to join you? Or do you expect me to try to sleep on that kitchen chair?”

He gawked at her, a flat-out gawk. She didn't just say what he thought he heard. She couldn't. Could she? He'd better ask, just to be sure. “Erm?”

Her nose wrinkled in puzzlement. “Was that an ‘erm, I'd love for you to climb into this bed in my lovely mouseless room,' or was that more of a ‘erm, I'm saving myself for the woman who is coming and about whom I've been terribly mysterious, and she would not understand if she heard that you spent the night in my bed even though we didn't do anything naughty' sort of situation?”

“I don't . . . I'm not . . .” He stammered to a stop,
then chastised himself and added immediately, “My brain has apparently ceased working for the night.”

“OK, now I'm really starting to feel vulnerable,” she said, rubbing her arms again, a look of hesitancy replacing her amused teasing expression. “Should I go try to bunk with Fenice? I will do so if you can't stomach the thought of me sleeping in your bed.”

“No.” He flipped back the duvet, careful to keep it draped over his groin, which at this point was hard and needy and telling him to stop talking and get with the action already. “You don't need to go sleep with Fenice. I just . . . I never thought . . . that is, you don't seem like . . .” He stopped, wanting to bang his head on the wall. Why was it he could never say things without them coming out all wrong?

She had hurried over to the bed at his invitation, but paused in the act of crawling between the covers. “I don't seem like what?”

He stared at her, unable to put into words the thoughts that were rolling around in his beleaguered brain.

She stiffened. “You wouldn't by any chance have been about to say that I don't seem like the sort of woman who jumps into bed with a man she's just met?” She took a deep breath, her eyes burning with an intensity that both aroused and worried him. “There's a name for women—and men—like that. Tell me you did not just stop yourself from using it.”

“I didn't. I wouldn't. I was just trying to say that no woman has ever wanted to . . . not on first meeting . . . oh, hell.”

She crossed her arms, her expression black. “I see.”

“Bloody, bloody, hell. Mercy—”

“No, no need to explain.” She took a deep breath, which he was too distressed by his own ineptitude to appreciate. “It's quite clear what you think of me. I will just point out that you, as a man who just met a woman, were clearly thinking about doing exactly what you're damning me for. Not that I was offering to have sex with you; I simply wanted a respite from the mice. But you might want to think about that when you're tarring me with your brush of morality. Since we are at such odds, I will return to my room and remove my unwelcome self from your presence.”

She swung around on her heel and marched to the door, slamming it loudly as she exited.

He winced at the noise, then sighed and punched the pillow next to him. How the hell could he have screwed up something so wonderful? Christ, there was no hope for him if Mercy—patient, thoughtful Mercy—couldn't be around without him making a complete ass of himself.

The door was flung open again. Mercy bolted through it and closed the door quickly, leaning against it and panting slightly. “That beast is still in my room. It charged me—so help me god, it charged me!”

He looked at her, unwilling to say anything lest it come out wrong and he insult her again.

“Here's the deal. I get into bed with you, and spend the night. There will be no touching. No kissing. Nothing that could even remotely be interpreted as actions belonging to a woman with no morals.”

“I never meant—”

She climbed onto the bed, covering herself with the duvet before using the edge of her hand to tuck it down between them. “And in the morning, once we're both
in full possession of our faculties, you can apologize for hurting my feelings. And I will accept your apology because I know that sometimes you say things that you don't mean to say. Until then, a state of frosty détente occurs between us. Nothing more.”

She rolled onto her side, giving him her back. There was enough room on the massive bed for her to lie completely separate from him, no part of their bodies touching. His penis sang a mournful dirge over that fact. Alden, with a look at the back of her head, said softly, “You don't have to wait until morning for an apology. I in no way meant to besmirch your character by implying you had low moral values. I was trying to say that . . . that . . .”

She rolled over and cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“No woman has ever wanted me that way before,” he said in a rush. “Not where they wanted to go to bed on the first date. I was rather flattered when I thought that you wanted to, but now I know better.”

“But we haven't even had a date,” she pointed out.

“At first meeting, then,” he said, aware that his cheeks were unusually warm. “I'm not like Vandal. Women don't seem to be attracted to me. Which is why I was surprised that you . . . well, you were here. In my room. But I was wrong about your intentions for being here, and for that, I apologize.”

“You get points for being adorably endearing and frank, but they will not be applied to your total until morning,” she told him, and returned to her original position. “Good night, Alden. Would you turn off the light? It's too bright to sleep.”

“Erm . . .”

“Again with the ‘erm.' What is it this time? You want me to do it because I'm closer to the light?” She snuggled
into the bed, pulling the duvet up to her nose. “I'm traumatized by the monstrous behemoth charging around my room. Besides, I'm still a bit hurt. You get to turn off the light.”

“I'd really rather not,” Alden said, well aware that just the thought of Mercy in his bed had returned his penis to what he thought of as a raging state.

“Don't be so lazy.” She snuggled deeper. “Not to mention ungentlemanly.”

“Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.” He got out of the bed and padded barefoot to the door.

“Why would I—oh. You sleep in the altogether.”

He stopped at the light and turned to face her.

Her eyes widened. “And you're . . . hoo! Sorry. I didn't realize you were fully . . . uh . . . engorged.”

“Aroused is, I believe, the preferred term.” The way she looked at him made him harder than ever. He reached for the light switch.

“I don't know,” she said, her gaze firmly affixed to his privates. “That looks pretty gorged to me. I never understood how men could walk like that. It looks . . . painful.”

“It can be. It is.” He clicked off the light and, holding out his hands so as not to stumble into the chair, made his way back to the bed. “And to answer your earlier accusations, I fully realize that there are words for men who jump into bed with women they just met, but I like to think of it as a meeting of two like-minded adults who wish to explore their sexuality with each other rather than something disreputable and unsavory. Not that we are going to do that, but I do feel obligated to mention that.”

“Now, you see, I like that description. And if I knew you better, and you were still inclined that way, I might
have been tempted to indulge in that meeting of minds, so to speak. Only with bodies. Oh well. It is what it is.”

He climbed under the duvet, still warm from his body. “I don't suppose you'd like—”

“No. I mean, it's not that I'm against it, per se, but even if I was willing to throw caution to the wind, there's nothing like almost being called a ho to deflate a girl's lust.”

“I didn't! I wouldn't call you a ho—”

“OK, OK. No need to get riled. I said I'd forgive and forget in the morning.”

She wiggled down into the bed. He lay on his back, looking over at her dark shape, so tantalizingly close, and yet just beyond his (figurative) reach, and wondered if she was really here because of the note he'd slid under her door. “Will that happen before or after you accidentally roll onto me while we're both asleep?”

She giggled. “Let's hope it's before. Good night, Alden.”

“Good night, Mercy.”

The scent of her, warm and soft and so near, seemed to cause little silken cords of desire and need to wrap tight around him. His penis grew even harder, something he thought would have been impossible. A joke about using it in lieu of a sledgehammer occurred to him, and he was on the verge of sharing it with her, but didn't when he wasn't sure how she'd take it.

Mercy shifted slightly, her foot brushing his leg. The contact sent fire skimming through his veins.

He sighed. It was going to be a very long night.

I
wasn't sure if I was happy or sad that I woke up to find myself on the mattress, and not lying on Alden as I had joked. I looked over at where he lay sprawled on his belly next to me, with one arm under his pillow, and the other on my stomach. Likewise, one of his legs rested on mine, causing little pins and needles in my foot.

I gently slid my foot out from under his, wiggling my toes and wincing at the sharp sensation as feeling came back to it.

Alden's eyelashes lay thick and dark on his cheeks, his two eyebrows arched in a manner that made my straight brows green with envy. He had a faint russet brown stubble on his lower cheeks and chin, and lips that were neither thin nor plump, but pleasingly in between. And oh, how soft they were . . . and what fires they could stir.

His shoulders were definitely on the broad side, with
nicely defined muscles that avoided being bodybuilder extreme, while still making my fingers want to stroke down his shoulders and biceps. He had a little scar on the back of one shoulder blade.

What was it about him that interested me so much? Was it just my need to help someone who was hurting? I shook my head even as that thought occurred. There was more to my interest in Alden than just that—I didn't want to admit that I was physically attracted to a man I had just met, but the sad truth was that he really did turn my crank. And if that made me the sort of woman who jumps into bed at the drop of a hat, then so be it.

I couldn't help but smile. I was, after all, in bed with him. And what was wrong with the idea of allowing myself to act on my desires? Oh, sure, the right thing, the reasonable thing, would be to give Alden the space he needed to see if he would hit it off with this blind date who was on her way.

But she wasn't here, and I was. And more important, Alden was a big boy. He could turn down any offer I made. Surely I owed it to him to allow him to make his own decisions?

My gaze strayed to the lovely curves of his shoulders and back. It might be wrong, but I really did want to touch him. And kiss him. And lick him . . .

I wondered if his behind was really as nice as I remembered it from the night before. With a quick glance at his face (his eyes remained closed), and a moment to monitor his breathing (still steady and slow), I casually stretched and shifted my leg in a way that would cause the duvet to slide down.

Yes, it was just as nice as I remembered. Very nice. Worthy of admiration, even. Except . . . I moved a little
to better see the far side of his butt, where a dark mark caught my attention. He had a tattoo! An ass tattoo. I couldn't quite make it out, though. And suddenly, I really wished to know what it was.

With another careful glance at his face, I sat up and leaned over his butt, careful not to touch it. The light in the room was too dim to see clearly. Carefully, I got onto my knees, and braced a hand to support myself, while holding my hair and nightgown back so they wouldn't brush against him when I leaned down to examine the tattoo.

“It's a hedgehog.”

“Eep!” I said, jumping a little, which, given my off-balance and awkward position, meant I tumbled down on top of him. “Gloriosky, Alden! You could have given me a heart attack.”

One eye opened to consider me. “I didn't think my ass was that bad.”

“No, it has nothing to do with . . .” I pushed myself up, and only just kept myself from patting the body part in question. “It has nothing to do with your butt. You scared me. You could have warned me you were awake.”

“Why? You seemed to be enjoying staring at my ass.”

I sat back down, and pinched his arm. “I wasn't staring at your ass. Not specifically. I was trying to figure out what the tat was. Why, if you don't mind my asking, do you have a tattoo of a hedgehog on its back legs on your behind?”

“It's a hedgehog rampant, actually. It's part of my personal coat of arms that my brothers had created for my twenty-first birthday, the same birthday where they took me out and got me so drunk that I agreed to honor the hedgehog in the only way I could: with a tattoo on my ass.”

“I think it's cute.”

“Thank you.” He flexed his butt cheeks. “I have no complaints.”

“Silly. I meant your tat, not your butt. Although . . .” I cleared my throat. His eyes were closed again, which made it a bit easier to ask what I wanted to ask. “Would you mind . . . I know this is seriously inappropriate, but since we are here in bed together, and you're naked, and I'm in my good nightie, would you mind if I touched it?”

“My tattoo?”

“Yes. Well, that and your butt.”

His eyes opened at that. “You want to touch my ass? Why?”

I cleared my throat again, and tried not to wiggle my fingers in a blatant show of grabby-ass. “It's . . . nice. And I would very much like to touch that swoopy part on the sides where it indents.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his butt, and gave another flex before turning his attention to me. “Do I get to touch yours?”

“I'm not lying here naked and exposed.”

“You exposed me.”

Dammit, he had a point.

“True, but I am wearing appropriate sleeping apparel.”

“Sweetheart,” he said with a twitch of his lips that made me feel a good ten degrees warmer, “that bit of nothing you have on is anything but appropriate.”

“I notice that you're not having any problem talking to me now,” I said in a blatant change of subject, then decided that wasn't fair. I couldn't play coy with him, not when the reality was that I wouldn't mind in the least if he touched my butt. And legs. And breasts, and pretty much all of me. “I'm sorry, that was wrong of me.”

“Why?” he asked, frowning. “I
am
talking to you, but it's due to the fact that I'm feeling quite a few emotions that are blocking out my social anxieties. I believe I explained that phenomenon to you.”

“You did, but my apology was about me pretending I wouldn't like for you to touch me, when the reality is that I would.”

“Mercy,” he said, giving his butt another flex.

Twenty degrees. Maybe I felt twenty degrees hotter. “Hmm?”

“Is there a reason you're talking and not touching?”

“You didn't say I could. I wouldn't wish to presume, especially after I made such a big deal last night about telling you I didn't do the very thing that I want to do now.”

“I can say with all honesty that at this moment, you may consider my ass your own to do with as you like. So long as you offer me the same consideration.”

“Deal,” I said, and got onto my knees to commence fondling. “I don't know what it is about men's butts when they have this swoopy part, but hoo mama, do I like it.”

“And I like you liking it.” He groaned into the pillow when I put both hands on his cheeks, and gave a little squeeze.

I had the worst urge to bite him, but decided to keep that rather shocking reaction to myself. “Would you mind if I . . . er . . . expanded the territory?”

“That depends. Where do you intend to go? Up or down?”

I gazed upon the wonderful smorgasbord of Alden that lay before me. I just wanted to touch and taste all of him, but again, I didn't want to admit that. At least, not just yet. “Can I do both?”

“Yes, but I warn you, when it's my turn, you're going to have to face the consequences of all this exploration.”

“I hope you don't mean that literally,” I said, sliding my hands up his warm, satiny flesh to his lower back. He was hot, but with every touch, I was growing even hotter. “No one likes a face full of unexpected penis.”

“Unexpected Penis is my grunge band name,” he said when I scooted over slightly, and spread my hands along his rib cage.

I paused and looked down at him.

He opened an eye and rolled it back to look at me. “Didn't you ever play the fake band name game?”

“Oh, that, yes. Grunge band. Heh. Would you mind rolling over?”

“Much as I'm enjoying this unanticipated massage—you may have that for
your
grunge band name—I hesitate to point out that if you continue, I will feel obligated to do everything I can to seduce you.”

The secret, hidden parts of me gave a thumbs-up to that idea. Just the thought of that magnificent body lying next to me doing all the things that I'd been thinking of the night before had me restless with need. “The way I see it is that we're both consenting adults, and although we've only just met, we have had a lot of conversation, and beyond that, we have a spark going on between us—we
do
have a spark, don't we?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“We have a spark, so that means it's perfectly OK if we want to build that spark into a fire. Or in your case”—I stroked his behind again—“an inferno.”

“You've forgiven me for my verbal faux pas last night?”

“Forgiven and forgotten.” I wanted to urge him over
onto his back so I could frolic on all the good parts of his front side, but didn't want to shock him with my wanton ways.

Then again, I'd just announced that I wanted to have sex with him after knowing him for a day, less than eight hours after stating the opposite. So much for high morals.

“Excellent,” he said, and before I could so much as tickle his hedgehog, he flipped over onto his back, and had whisked my nightie off over my head, pulling me over his body as he did so.

“Oooh,” I said, giggling a little as his very aroused penis poked me in the hip. “You weren't lying about your unexpected penis. Are you sure ‘engorged'—”

“Quite sure. ‘Engorged,' ‘swollen,' and ‘throbbing' are three adjectives that I'd prefer not be used when referencing my penis. You have lovely breasts. I take it you don't mind if I reciprocate all the tormenting you've been doing to my poor body?”

“Reciprocate away.” I spread my hands across his chest at the same time his hands slid down my back and squeezed my butt. “I love how you talk, Alden. And before your anxiety tells you that was my subtle way of saying you're talking too much, I didn't mean that at all. The opposite, as a matter of fact, especially since I'm the same way. My last boyfriend says I wasn't so much a moaner as I was a talker when it came to sex.”

“I will admit,” he said, tipping his head so as to be able to reach my right breast, “that a woman I was with once told me that the fact that I talked during intimate times caused her to strike me off her list of partners.”

“Silly woman,” I said on a gasp when his mouth closed around one of my nipples. I arched back, rubbing my thumbs across his nipples, giving them gentle little
tweaks that I was pleased to see made his eyes cross. Small rivulets of fire seemed to trace along my veins at the touch of his mouth to my flesh, sending my libido into overdrive. Rather than the pleasurable tingle of anticipation I'd felt at the thought of lovemaking with him, I was suddenly cast into a raging blaze of pure, unadulterated desire. It left me breathless and speechless and writhing with mingled passion and need.

“Hmm?” he said when I made an inarticulate sound in my throat.

I twisted so that my other breast could receive its due attention, shivering with the heat that his mouth seemed to generate inside me. I clutched his shoulders, my breasts heavy and sensitive, and just when I was thinking seriously about spontaneously combusting, his fingers stroked their way up my thigh, and hit ground zero.

“Hrn,” I said, my body tightening around his fingers in a way that warned me an orgasm was imminent.

“Pardon?” His fingers stopped moving in me.

I opened my eyes, and glared down at him.

“What did you say?” he asked, a tiny frown pulling his brows together.

I searched my mind. Had I spoken? Despite my declaration to the contrary, at that moment I didn't think I could form actual words. At least not ones that made any sense. “Hrn?” I asked, and wiggled my hips on his now stilled fingers.

A slow smile turned up the corners of his lips. “You like that, do you?”

“Hrn!” I said, my toes curling when his fingers moved again.

“Then you're going to love this, my talkative little minx.” He rolled me onto my back, kissing his way
down my chest to my belly, and then lower, moving until he was between my knees. “I can't tell you how nice it is to have someone who enjoys talking during lovemaking. There's so many things to say. And ask. Oral sex, for instance. I assume by the way you are trying to pull me down to your . . . erm . . . lady parts . . . that you are happy to participate. Now, let me tell you what I plan to do, and if there's something in particular you'd like, I'd be happy to oblige.”

“Alden,” I snarled, glaring at him down the length of my needy, desperate, deprived body. “Too. Much. Talking!”

He laughed, and gently nipped my hip. “All right, my demanding one, I shall stop talking, and give you the pleasure you so obviously want.”

I collapsed back onto the bed, my body buzzing with anticipation as his warm breath approached the parts that were so desperately awaiting him. Just as I was grabbing the sheets to brace myself for what was sure to be a hell of a sexual experience, there was a creak outside Alden's door, a brief tap, and the door opened.

I had just enough time to grab the duvet and fling it over us, leaving my shoulders and head exposed.

“Alden? Just wanted to let you know—” Vandal stopped at the sight of me, frowning as he looked around the room. “This is Alden's room, isn't it? Where is he?”

Alden, who had stiffened at the noise, jerked upright. Vandal's eyebrows rose when the bottom half of the duvet moved apparently of its own accord.

“Ah. Just so. Well, when he's done, would you tell him the kitchen is on fire? Fenice has it confined to the pantry area, but she thought he'd like to know.” Vandal
closed the door before I could do more than clutch the duvet to my chest.