The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (21 page)

Then, abruptly, something inside her snapped. Why was she waiting? It was time.

“Come on—let’s get settled in the living room,” she suggested, taking his wrist. Her fingers barely fit around its warm solidness, but when she tugged, he obliged and pulled to his feet.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, allowing her to pull him into the living room. He would have propelled her over to the couch immediately, but she released his wrist and made her way to the stereo in the corner of the room.

Gideon forced himself to sit, watching from the plump leather sectional as she opened the doors of the sleek, unobtrusive unit that held the components of his stereo. “You can turn on the radio,” he suggested in an effort to speed up the process and get her attention back on him.

Fiona ignored him as she flipped through the rows of CDs. “Mood music,” she tossed over her shoulder with a grin.

Mood music. Well, that was a good sign. He raised his feet, resting them, ankles crossed, on the big square ottoman that fit in the middle of the sectional.

She selected a CD and slid it into the tray, fiddling with several buttons and knobs—and it was to his credit that he didn’t say anything about her adjusting his wildly complicated system. The music seeped into the room, softly at first, then just loud enough after she found the volume control.

Nirvana? The hard, rough beat of the grunge rock band pulsed into the room, Kurt Cobain’s scratchy but pleasing voice driving from a speaker near Gideon. He only owned the CD because he forgot to send back the reply card for a music club he’d belonged to many years ago when there had been music clubs, and grunge had been hot. He’d only listened to it once or twice.

If he hoped Fiona would have joined him on the sofa after choosing her mood music, he was bound to be disappointed and frustrated. Instead, as the music forced its way into his being—the bass-line and solid electric guitar permeating his veins in a way not unlike Fiona’s presence—he watched as she moved around the room. She dimmed the lights, leaving only one corner lamp on low, and the rest turned down to a bare burn.

He began to burn, and shifted on the couch. If she was trying to drive him crazy, she was doing an excellent job of it. “Fiona,” he said firmly, resting his arm along the back of the sofa.

“I’m setting the mood for your seduction,” she told him from safely across the room. “Where can I find some matches?”

Gideon almost groaned aloud, but he managed to respond, “Third drawer in the desk. What do you need matches for?”

“The candles.” She glided out of the room, leaving him a moment to gather his patience.

Only Fiona would take over someone else’s house to set a seduction scene, he thought wryly. It would be worth it though, his seduction, he thought, resting his head back against the couch and closing his eyes.

The snick of a match striking sandpaper brought his eyes open, and he saw the flare of a wick being lit—she must have taken the candles off the bookcases in the den. Fiona lit three fat white pillars that smelled like vanilla (a gift from Iva) and moved them onto the low square table. Warm, glowing light spilled onto the ottoman next to the couch, setting off the thick curls of her hair in a glowing aura.

She came to stand in front of him, and he remained lounging back against the couch, his arm still resting across the top. Closing his fingers around the leather to keep from grabbing her, Gideon looked up and felt his heart move. She looked so beautiful…earthy yet ethereal at the same time in her scuffed jeans and nimbus of coppery hair.

“Fiona….” This time, it was his voice that shifted roughly, bespeaking his need for her.

“I’m a little nervous,” she confessed, reaching out with two slim white hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever planned a seduction like this before.”

“You’re doing just fine,” he replied, his throat dry. “But I think you should kiss me now.”

She moved forward suddenly, straddling him where he sat on the couch—taking him totally by surprise as her jean-clad thighs embraced him, knees against the back of the sofa…her mouth suddenly pressing into his as her hands slid to cup the corners of his jaw.

“Christ,” he groaned as he went abruptly from famine to feast—just as he had that day she fell into his arms in the closet.

Her mouth demanded from his, fitting boldly to his lips and tearing his breath away. Her weight sank into him—her hands on his shoulders, fingers sliding over the sensitive skin of his neck, and her breasts leaning into his chest. He smoothed his hands down over her back around her rear, pulling her closer, on top of him, imprinting her body into his.

Fiona pulled away, sitting back on his thighs, her legs bent on the sofa on either side of him, and pushed a hand through her wild hair. He was about to protest between the deep dragging breaths she’d caused when she started to slip the buttons loose from his shirt. He fought the urge to shrug out of the crisp, rough cotton on his own and enjoyed the feel of her hands on his bare skin.

The way she sucked in her breath when she touched the firm planes of his pecs told him she was as appreciative of his curves as he was of hers.

Her fingers smoothed over him, light, then heavy, then lightly brushing through the hair that covered his chest. His nerves were singing, and his skin wanted to shift to meet her touch as she explored its texture.

Fiona slid the shirt off his shoulders and he leaned forward to shrug out of it, catching a faceful of thick, musky, coppery hair and the opportunity to taste her neck. She paused as his lips touched the sensitive, silky skin next to her throbbing pulse, tilting her head to one side and catching her breath in an audible sigh of pleasure.

That did it—that small little moan from her ended his restraint, and the next thing either of them knew, they were tumbling off the sofa onto the carpeted floor, lips locked together as somehow their shirts were torn off and her bra unclasped.

Gideon felt the vibration of the steady, driving rock music beneath his knees as he kissed Fiona against the big ottoman, tasting the pair of lips he couldn’t seem to get enough of, kneeling next to her on the floor.

It was an anomaly—the deep, thumping bass chords, the wailing twang of electric guitar, and the scratchy, husky vocals—hard, and fast, and rough…featured in a place where the lights were low and soft and the smell of vanilla gently permeated the room, mingling with the spicy, musky scent of silky Fiona.

The juxtaposition of these two opposites inflamed him, two worlds colliding in his consciousness…and then it all became nothing but a faint awareness as he focused everything on the woman before him.

Grasping her wrists, one in each hand, he drew them up over her head, pulling her to her knees, pushing her so that she splayed on the top of the ottoman. He transferred one wrist to his left hand, freeing him to slide an open palm down her arm, to her torso, and around to hold a perfect breast. He bent to kiss the tight, tempting nipple, reveling in the shudder that coursed through her under his mouth.

Gideon pulled back to look down at her—at the scene before him. His mouth felt cottony, and the beating of his heart leapt out of sync then back into rhythm, faster now, faster than he could remember feeling it before.

She looked like a magnificent goddess—sprawled back on the ottoman—torso bared and golden in the flickering candle light, long fluid arms raised over her head, held there by his taut, dark fingers. Her hair fanned over the beige suede leather furniture, cinnamon-colored spirals cast over his arm, her hands, her face, her shoulders. Her skin glistened like a honey-colored pearl under the burning lights, the faintest smattering of freckles over her shoulders and arms. She looked up at him, lips parted, moist from his own mouth, eyes dazed and half-closed.

He worshipped her—touching, kissing, licking, sucking—feeling her writhe and sigh beneath him. It would only get better, he thought, his head pounding. With a flick of his wrist, he freed her belt from its buckle and yanked her jeans open, still one-handed, still keeping her gently imprisoned there before him.

She was wet and hot and very vocal when he slipped his fingers into her. Gideon had to close his eyes at the wave of need that sliced through him, struggling to keep from losing his weakening control.

She jerked once at the sudden onslaught, then her eyes slid closed and an erotic smile curved her lips as she drew in a long, deep, solid breath, her white neck tensing with pleasure. Then, when he brought her over the edge—easily—she opened her mouth in one soft, puffy sigh, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she shuddered, shifting and arching against him.

Fiona was lost in a haze of sensation—trapped in a place she had no desire to escape. She opened her eyes when her wrists were released, and she looked up into Gideon’s burning gaze. He stared down at her, his face immobile, jaw tight, eyes narrowed, as he worked the rest of his clothes off…then, before she even had the chance—or desire—to move, he recaptured her wrists, one in each hand, splaying them outstretched over the ottoman, and slipped inside her.

The pleasure was so intense, Fiona cried aloud, and he stopped suddenly to look down at her, his eyes focusing on her with instant clarity.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice thick, lifting her head to kiss him. He met her lips, quickly and savagely, then began to move firmly and steadily, then hard enough that the smack of their bodies could be heard over Cobain’s raspy voice. He released her arms in order to slam her hips into him one last time, then held her there just in time, just as he found what he was looking for….what he needed. Intense pleasure rolled through him as she gave the soft cry of her own erotic peak, shuddering against his trembling body.

Before Fiona had begun to return to herself, Gideon slipped his arms around her, hugging her against his solid, hairy chest, and shifted to one side, rolling onto his back on the floor.

The vibrations of the music were more pronounced now, thumping up through him and into her body, which was, itself, still singing from pleasure. She let her weight collapse onto him, felt his arms hold her close, then the adjustment as he reached up and pulled something off the couch to cover her naked back.

His hands, fingers widespread, smoothed up to her shoulders, then down, down her spine, over her rear, and back up. She noticed his breathing slowing and his heart, against her ear, calming. The thick hair on his chest tickled her nose, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was boneless.

“Fiona,” he said in her ear a long while later. It must have been a
long
while, for the Nirvana CD had long since ended and they were halfway through a jazz disc that had already been in the player. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“Because sex complicates things,” she murmured, for the moment not caring that it was true. “Even mind-boggling stuff like that.”

“Mind-boggling?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad you thought so too.”

“Are you saying that wasn’t bad for a first-time seduction?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He kissed the top of her head and gently moved her aside, helping her to sit up and lean against the side of the sofa. “Can I get you something?” He reached to touch her, sliding a hand along her jaw, his mouth firming as he looked at her. “You are incredibly sexy and beautiful, Fiona. I don’t want this to be a…one-time thing.”

She felt a tear sting in her eye. He was sincere, so heartbreakingly handsome, at that moment, and her lungs swelled to fill her chest. “It won’t be.” And, petrified though she was, she meant it.

Chapter Eleven

Gideon pushed open the door to Nath, Nath & Powell, feeling unusually empty-handed without his laptop and briefcase—which he’d left at the office in his haste the day before. He stepped into the reception area just as Claire appeared from the back, and Mrs. Montgomery, the receptionist, looked up from her desk.

“Is everything all right?” asked the older woman, her eyes concerned.