Gorgeous As Sin

There was that trifling pettishness again. “No, because I very much wish to please you. You’re quite exceptional; this evening is exceptional. Nothing about this-us- is about versatility or amusement. I apologize for my choice of words. You’ve been a constant in my thoughts today.”

Her expression turned guarded. “Because you want my store.”

“No.” He didn’t even take issue with her comment. “Because I find you fascinating.”

“And you want what you want.”

“Good God, don’t fight with me.” He smiled. “You don’t know how much I’m out of my element.”

She drew in a small shaky breath. “We both are.”

“Then we’ll navigate this unknown terrain together. You lead and I’ll follow.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his flattering candor. “It might be wiser if you lead and I follow.”

Since he rarely contradicted a lady when it came to making love, he whispered, “Whatever you say.” Although, he rather thought she was right. Having reached the top of the stairs, he crossed the small landing, walked through the open door into a parlor illuminated by another simple light fixture, and halted. “Which way? Over there?” He nodded toward a closed door on the far side of the sparsely furnished room.

“Oh dear.”

Looking down, Fitz met her wide-eyed gaze. “Is something wrong?” There was no mistaking the doubt in her voice.

“I don’t know-maybe… probably. Oh Lord, now I’m not sure.”

Faced with such tremulous reluctance, he debated his course of action. Toying with a squeamish woman could turn out to be a disaster. Sophisticated females with a flair for the game were more his style-like Miss Baldwin. She’d been more than willing.

And yet, there was no question it was Mrs. St. Vincent he wanted.

Notoriously self-indulgent, and highly motivated, he decided the lady’s uncertainties were open to interpretation. She clearly hadn’t ordered him to put me down this instant and leave. A good sign.

So, attuned as he was to the nuances of female acquiescence, he carried her toward what looked to be a bedroom door. Crossing the small parlor in a few strides, he shoved open the door with his shoulder and stepped over the threshold.

Rosalind shivered-in anticipation at this point, Groveland’s celebrated reputation was one of excess.

“Are you cold?” he gently asked, coming to a halt, although he knew better. Aroused women were not without precedence in his life.

“No, quite the opposite.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said.

A brief flash of amusement shone in her eyes. “I’m hoping you delight me as well.”

He laughed. “I shall strive to fulfill your hopes.”

“Do you ever get complaints?”

His look of surprise was quickly shuttered. “Not about this,” he said.

She shouldn’t ask personal questions. Even unfamiliar as she was with dalliance, she knew better. But she found herself intrigued by the man behind the prodigal reputation. “What complaints do you get?” she impetuously asked, the words coming out in a rush.

He looked at her so oddly, she immediately said, “Forgive my curiosity, but you’re a constant subject of the scandal sheets.”

“Does that interest you?” His voice had taken on a cynical edge. Was her innocence a pose? Was she looking for something out of the ordinary tonight, like the others?

His gaze was cool. “I apologize again,” she quickly said. “I’m new to this.”

Illogically, he felt a sense of relief. Maybe he was turning into a romantic. Or maybe Mrs. St. Vincent was as lush a female as he’d ever had the good fortune to bed and he should stop overintellectualizing her motives and his. “New is good,” he smoothly observed, and began walking toward the bed.

As he moved, the solid length of his erection nudged her right hip and bottom, sending a heated shimmer of excitement racing along every impatient little nerve ending in her body. She’d been aroused for some time-if she was honest with herself, since he’d walked into the exhibition. Without so much as a word or gesture from him, she’d immediately turned dewy wet in readiness. It was astonishing how he could tempt her to such madness with so little effort-with none. Her wanting him was a kind of extravagant delirium. “No, no, not there,” she blurted out, wrenched from her musing as he stopped by her bed.

Since at this stage of their acquaintance, politesse was required, he swiftly surveyed the small room, searching for some other piece of furniture or surface capable of holding them both. In the light from the open doorway, the shadowed interior revealed a flimsy dressing table, a too-high chest of drawers, a narrow fragment of carpet before the hearth, the shabby interior provoking a sudden, inexplicable resentment toward Edward St. Vincent. How could he gamble away his money and force his wife to live like this?

“The chair perhaps.”

Her voice intruded into his rancor, and casting aside his irrational concern, he said with a smile, “The chair will do nicely.” Or at least until such a time as he could coax Mrs. St. Vincent into her former marriage bed.

Another first for a man who was more familiar than many aristocratic husbands with their marriage beds.

But then tonight was alive with firsts. Most significant, his outrageous interest in a woman who had been, at best, inhospitable to him only a few hours ago. Perhaps the challenge of overcoming Mrs. St. Vincent’s initial distaste fueled his lust.

Or maybe the lady’s ripe opulence struck some primal nerve.

Or maybe the whys didn’t matter when it came right down to it-only the fucking.

While Fitz was engaged in a novel introspective, Rosalind’s troublesome voice of reason had inconveniently resurfaced and was taking issue with her having sex with the man who was out to steal her property.

What are you doing? He’s your enemy.

Wait, wait, her fevered passions swiftly intervened, bargaining frantically. Couldn’t tonight be in the way of a research exercise?

Of course. There. All was quickly reconciled. Lust triumphant.

With her voice of reason appeased, Groveland’s enormous erection featuring largely in her swift decision, she looked forward to a night of sumptuous carpe diem pleasure. Sofia was right; she’d been celibate too long. “I feel I should apologize again-about the bed this time,” she murmured. “I’m just not ready to-”

“No need to explain,” Fitz interposed, averse to hearing some explanation about her husband. Not that anything-including dead husbands-was likely to dissuade his aching cock from its target goal. “We’ll sit in the chair instead,” he pleasantly said, dropping into the wing-back chair, disposing her on his lap, and shifting to plan B.

The hard imprint of his erection instantly made contact with her throbbing vulva in the most delectable fashion, and Rosalind shifted her bottom slightly to better absorb the wildly intoxicating rapture. “You-this… makes me feel”-she smiled up at him-“decidedly wanton.”

Lounging back in the chair, Fitz’s mouth twitched. “Naturally, that pleases me.”

His cool equanimity was perversely sexual, as if he had but to wait and women always came to him. “Such insouciance, Groveland,” she said, a small heat in her eyes. “It almost makes me angry.”

“But not quite, I’d wager.”

“Nor could you get up and leave, I’d wager,” she countered, not as cooly as he, but as pointed.

“No.” Not so cool that time, an edginess in his voice.

They were both restive under their baffling urges, not entirely sure why they were here, why they were doing what they were doing, why they couldn’t just walk away.

Then less practiced at the game, less jaded, or rather, not jaded at all, Rosalind capitulated first. “I don’t know why I’m taking issue with your expertise when look”-she held out her quivering hand-“I’m trembling for want of you.”

“Why don’t I take care of that.”

His careless offer of orgasmic pleasure smacked of arrogance. But it also incited piquant little vibrations in