Seven Nights to Forever (9 page)

He felt her gaze on him and looked up, dragging his attention from her chest and back to her question. “I am better able to negotiate the sale if I am familiar with the goods. The choicest timbers fetch the best prices. Though I probably should have asked for more help. I doubt the two who assisted me will be standing tomorrow.”

“For you,” she murmured, handing him the cup. She walked around behind the settee as he took a sip. He felt her presence behind him the instant before small hands rested on his shoulders and began to knead. “Well then, I shouldn’t want you to join their ranks.”

Blindly reaching to his right, he set the cup on the side table.

His head lolled forward, chin dropping to his chest. All the pent-up stress whooshed out of him. With unerring accuracy, she found all the right places, carefully working the taut tendons and muscles, massaging out to the apples of his shoulders and then back toward his spine. He couldn’t suppress the low grunt as she found a particularly sore spot at the base of his neck and pressed harder, staying just on the pleasurable side of pain.

His eyes drifted shut as slow, sensuous desire washed over him at the feel of her fingers combing through his hair and massaging his scalp. Slow and unhurried, she made her way to his temples, rubbing in soothing circles for a long moment, before traveling back to the nape of his neck. Then those fingers drifted down, over his cravat, pausing to give more attention to his shoulders before working the sore muscles of his biceps.

He felt her warm breath fan his ear a second before she spoke.

“Lie on the floor.” Small hands pushed lightly against his shoulder blades.

So utterly relaxed, it took a moment to wrap his mind around her request. He blinked open his eyes. “The floor?”

“Unless you’d prefer my bed.” Her whispered words were both a taunt and an open invitation.

“The floor is acceptable.” Regardless of his decision to seize the opportunity tonight, he just could not get over the reluctance to walk through the door so many men had gone through. It was as if by remaining here, he could convince himself he was not using her to slake his own selfish desires.

“Come along.” She pushed again, though she barely budged him. “Unless you want me to stop?”

Hell, no.
He shook his head.

“And remove your coat and waistcoat. All that fabric gets in the way.”

Standing, he did as he was bidden, stripping down to his shirtsleeves, though it wasn’t an easy feat since his attention was fixed on her as she swept around from behind the settee. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had lost a button or two in the process. Not that he cared. His tailor could see to it tomorrow.

He lowered himself to his knees, then lay on his stomach on the plush rug, resting his head on his folded arms. Her skirts brushed his sides. Silk rustled. And then her weight settled on his lower back. He felt the heat from her core even through the linen of his shirt.

She was bare beneath that dress.

He couldn’t keep the deep, low groan inside.

“Am I too heavy for you?” she asked, misinterpreting the source of his groan.

“Oh God, no. Not at all. You’re perfect.”

She chuckled, light and airy. “I’m glad you think so.”

Her hands were pure magic as she worked down the length of his back, her thumbs bracketing his spine and coaxing his muscles to relax. When she reached the waistband of his trousers, she scooted back, and her hands continued down over his buttocks, the tips of her fingers just grazing the crease, and down his legs. He twitched, an involuntary start of a laugh tickling his throat, when she rubbed the backs of his knees.

“Ticklish?” she asked in a soft, playful whisper.

“Apparently.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

Then she slowly worked her way back up, adept hands coasting over his back in long, slow, generous sweeps, the motion lulling his senses, tempting him to drift off to sleep. She could rub his back all night long and he wouldn’t say a word in protest.

Never in his life had he been the object of such undivided attention from a woman. It was a heady feeling, one he could easily grow accustomed to if given the opportunity.

“Turn over.” The soft command swept past his ear.

Her weight left his lower back as she moved to kneel beside him. It took more effort than should be required to organize his limbs enough to roll over. Gathering her skirt, she straddled his waist, the amber silk pooling about them. She was positioned perfectly. If only she had asked him to remove his trousers, in addition to the coat and waistcoat . . .

Dragging his attention from the spot where they could have been joined, he looked up at her through his heavily lidded eyes. A lock of her dark hair had escaped the loose knot, and with every move she made, it swayed, the end tickling the valley between her breasts. She rubbed his upper arms, his chest, and down lower. Her fingers lightly brushed his semi-erect cock, making it jump beneath the placket, eager for more attention. Blood pooled in his groin, his length hardening, pushing against the soft wool fabric. But she seemed not to notice, so intent was her concentration as she focused on his thighs.

Just as slowly and thoroughly, she crawled up his body, retracing her path. He was absolutely relaxed yet highly aroused, his body strumming with a unique mixture of bone-melting lethargy and urgent need.

When she reached his shoulders once again, he captured her face and brought her mouth down to meet his.

The first press of her lips placated the frantic lust that had seized his senses. As though he had all the time in the world, he kissed her, relearning the feel of her lips beneath his. Slowly brought his tongue into play, slipping into her mouth, stroking hers. Gently nipped her lower lip, kissed the spot, soothing any lingering sting before diving once again into her kiss and losing himself in the scent of her, the taste of her.

He broke the kiss long before he had taken his fill, somehow knowing he could never get enough of kissing her. It took barely a tug to free her breasts from the confines of her bodice. He wasted no time at all, cupping one firm globe and bringing his mouth to the hardened tip. Sucking at first lightly and then increasing the pressure. He glanced up to see her eyes flutter closed. A slight flush stained her cheekbones. Her lips, glistening wet from their kisses, were parted on quick breaths.

Gathering her in his arms, he reversed their positions, bringing her under him and settling between her thighs, her legs bracketing his hips in undeniable welcome. Shifting his attention to her other breast, flicking his tongue over the sweet tip, he coasted his other hand down her side to delve beneath her skirt, needing to further fuel her passions. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She arched into his touch. To have her pliant in his arms and eager beneath him . . .

He fought back the urge to claim her, to tear at the placket of his trousers and sink into her hot, welcoming body. Instead he let her responses guide him, his fingertips sliding over her slick flesh, pausing every now and then to tease the spot that made her gasp for more. The urge to taste her, to drink up her pleasure, built until he could no longer deny it.

After delivering one last playful nip, he pulled free of her breast and crawled down her body. With hands that shook slightly, he pushed her skirt higher up her waist, revealing the triangle of neatly trimmed dark hair. He caught her gaze, caught her eyes wide with surprise, and then he dropped down and let his ragged breath fan her most intimate flesh.

“James?”
His name was caught on a gasp, her body tightening.

“Please, let me,” he whispered, needing more than anything to pleasure her.

Her answer came out on a moan of purest need, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

A lightning
bolt of unadulterated pleasure shot through Rose’s body. His mouth was so hot. His tongue slick and agile, with a hint of hesitation behind each hot stroke.

“Oh, James,” she sighed.

Then the hesitation slipped away. He explored every fold, every bit of her sex. Light licks, soft flicks, and decadent kisses that threatened to rob her of all sense.

Still, a part of her braced for him to pull away, to quickly crawl up her body and plunge into her. To take what he wanted. She had certainly been the recipient of such pleasures before, but it had been more as a prelude for what they wanted. A small gift thrown to her, and only long enough to tease.

But she had never had a man
ask
to pleasure her. And certainly not as though he wanted it above all. Her skirts were crumpled at her waist, his strong, callused hands on her thighs, holding her open. Persistent, determined, focused solely on her pleasure, he gave no indication of having his sights set on anything more.

She levered up onto her elbows and feasted on James’s powerful form laid out before her. His head bowed, tousled hair tickling her sensitive inner thighs, the muscles of his shoulders and biceps rippling beneath the white linen shirt with every movement.

She gasped at the intrusion as one finger was eased inside her. And the next second, before her mind could even fully process the extra layer he had added to his delicious torture, her back arched as he took her clit into his mouth. He sucked, his tongue dancing on the apex of her pleasure. The sensations built within her, coiling ever tighter, winding unbelievably taut. Until they threw her over the edge, the climax rushing through her, her head thrown back in rapture, his name on her lips.

Then her arms gave out and she collapsed back onto the rug. Staring at the white ceiling, she panted for breath, her pulse pounding, shocked over what he had done for her.

He crawled up her body, his eyes heavily lidded and banked with unmistakable triumph. With a quick swipe of his forearm, he wiped his wet mouth.

A firm nudge prodded the back of her hazy mind, reminding her that she needed to get to work. He hadn’t paid Rubicon simply to pleasure her. He would expect something in return. She cupped his jaw. “Allow me to repay the favor.”

He gave his head a small shake. “Unnecessary.” With the lightest of touches, he brushed the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She thought for certain he was going to kiss her again, but then he dropped his forehead to her chest, his breaths puffing across her bare skin.

She smoothed her hand over his hair, giving him the moment he clearly needed. His body was tensed almost to the point of trembling, the need within him was so strong it was palpable, but he wasn’t acting on it. The hard arch pressing into her upper thigh could not be anything but a raging erection. For a reason known only to him, he seemed content to remain in discomfort.

Then she remembered. He was not a man who treated infidelity lightly.

She closed her eyes on a wince as that old ache flared in her chest. Why hadn’t she let him leave earlier? She should have. But she hadn’t been able to let him walk away, the hurt reflected so clearly on his face at the belief that she did not want him. Because that was the furthest thing from the truth.

A shuddering sigh shook his chest and then he rocked back on his haunches. His hands trembling slightly, a bit of a scowl pulling his brow, he tugged her bodice back in place and then got to his feet, holding out his hand. After helping her up, he turned to retrieve his coat and waistcoat from the floor.

“Do you need assistance?” she asked, as he slipped his arms into his waistcoat.

He shook his head.

Unsure of what to do, she sat on the settee and busied herself trying to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. The usual course of events apparently did not apply to James. She couldn’t offer him a drink—the coffee had surely gone cold by now. And her mind was strangely blank of any topic of conversation, even light, meaningless banter. One would think she was a mere novice and had not watched a man pull on his coat a hundred times before.

“May I see you again tomorrow night?” he asked, as he did up the last button.

An outright refusal was out of the question, of course. A suitable reason would need to be given, and she would not have Rubicon believe James was anything but kind. An evasive answer was her best option. She should definitely not encourage him. Nothing could come from continuing down this path with him. But as she looked into his eyes, as she saw the hurt begin to cloud the soft, olive green depths, she heard the words fall from her mouth.

“I would like that.”

ROSE
tugged on the cuff of her plain, black leather glove, straightening it. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Timothy stretched out his long legs as best he could in the confines of the hackney and picked up the newspaper from beside him on the bench, clearly settling in for a wait. “No need to hurry on my account. It’s not as if I have anywhere else I need to be at the moment.”