Seduction in Mind

than satisfied to keep the bewitching Miss Ionides impaled on his erection for the foreseeable future and all the rest be damned. Grasping her hips, he hauled her bottom to the edge of the table, lifted her legs onto his shoulders and, bending forward, guided his erection to her alluring cunt and proceeded to execute his single-minded plan.

When he woke the next morning, he was momentarily startled to find a woman in his bed. For a dreadful moment he thought he was with Penelope again. The error immediately corrected itself in his brain, and more pleasant sensations came to the fore, along with lush memories of the previous night.

Alex was truly remarkable, unrestrained in her passion-and also in her demands, he recalled, smiling. The satisfying feel of her in his arms this morning was equally remarkable, for he preferred waking up alone. He'd have to find a larger bed, he thought, if they were to make use of his secret apartment. A moment of apprehension struck him at such an extraordinary consideration, and in the cold light of day, with his independence at stake, he decided the bed was perfectly fine. He wasn't ready to alter his life for a woman. Particularly not after having known Miss Ionides, however remarkable her talents, for less than a day.

Unsettled by his thoughts, he unconsciously shifted his position. The slight movement brought Alex awake.

When she smiled at him, his reservations vanished, and when she stretched up to kiss him, he forgot all but the tantalizing promise in her smile.

'I recall someone like you making me very happy last night,' she sighed. 'Are you still available, or does duty call?'

'What did you have in mind?' he drawled.

'I was thinking about something sexual,' she breathed.

His brows rose. 'How sexual?'

'Surprise me…'

He laughed. 'I'm not sure I have any surprises left after last night.'

'Something simple will be equally appreciated.' She twisted her hips slightly, and her damp cleft slid up his thigh.

'As long as it's soon?' he said, smoothing his palm down her bottom, touching her slippery wetness with his fingertips.

'And long and hard… like this,' she purred, lightly grasping his swelling erection.

He rolled over her a second later, plunged into her waiting sweetness, and bid the lady in his bed good morning with such extravagant lasciviousness, neither heard the sounds of the City waking outside. It was a tropical morning in Queen Elizabeth's bed; it was a dawn of obsession for two people who had until then been unaware of the concept; it was a private, sequestered world filled with dazzling pleasures.

Much later, when passions were quenched, when the level of satiation and contentment was sufficient to let in the outside world, when the chiming of the clock seemed to have become conspicuously shrill, they reluctantly rose from the bed and even more reluctantly dressed to face the events of the day.

Sam extended an impulsive invitation for breakfast, when he'd never actually shared his breakfast with a lover. Alex accepted, when she'd not been sure she could speak of mundane things after the glorious splendor she'd experienced. But they found they could converse like ordinary humans and that they both liked bacon more than eggs and not kippers at all. After three cups of coffee, they agreed as well that most of the problems of the world were entirely solvable.

When it came time for Alex to leave, Sam escorted her downstairs and helped her into his carriage. He had a meeting that morning; she had plans to work and appointments scheduled.

'You're sure you don't mind if I don't see you home,' he said once again, not wishing to offend.

'I prefer you not see me home,' she replied with a smile. 'Just in case my family is parked on my doorstep.'

'You know best.' He leaned in and gently kissed her.

'Thank you for a most enjoyable… time,' she whispered. 'You certainly know how to entertain a lady.'

'And I consider myself the most fortunate of men,' he replied graciously.

She smiled. 'Adieu, then, Ranelagh.'

'Sam.'

'Sam,' she repeated, and after a hushed moment glanced past him to the sidewalk.

Taking his cue, he moved back and shut the door.

She waved once and smiled.

He nodded at his driver.

And the carriage pulled away from the curb.

But rather than his normal relief at taking leave of a lover, a niggling discontent insinuated itself into his brain.

She hadn't once asked 'When will I see you again' or 'Won't you come over soon' or any of the familiar cajoling female phrases he was used to evading.

He was not only surprised but mildly annoyed.

And, more startling, disappointed.

For her part, Alex was wondering if she'd ever see him again. Realistic about the viscount, she wasn't unduly optimistic. Her view was purely rational, quite separate from the blissful happiness she was feeling. Ranelagh certainly knew how to leave a woman ardently aglow. But if he didn't call upon her, her life was entirely complete without a man. After two husbands, she was well past the point of needing a man in her life. And not from malcontent. Rather, she was enjoying the broad and diverse pleasures of her unmarried state.

As the carriage took her away from the beauty of last night, though, a small sigh escaped her.

If Ranelagh didn't call on her, she would miss his magnificent and inventive talents in bed, she thought selfishly.

Chapter Fifteen

Euterpe Ionides came sailing through Alex's open terrace doors shortly before noon, her fashionable persimmon and white striped skirts trailing over the green slate entryway, her mouth set.

'You finally came back, I see.' Her acerbic pronouncement was delivered in a biting staccato, the tattoo of her heels brisk on the stained wood of Alex's studio floor.

'In the future, kindly refrain from monitoring my activities, Mother,' Alex said blandly, brushing a slash of pale rose on the canvas before her. 'At thirty, I find it extremely embarrassing.'

'I should think it better to be embarrassed than ruined,' her mother said crisply, coming to rest behind Alex. She surveyed the painting on the easel with a critical eye. 'Wouldn't it be nice, darling, if you painted lovely portraits like Letty Cassavettis.'

'And wouldn't it be nice, Mother, if you spent more time at your needlework than you did bothering me.'

'Letty sells every portrait before she paints it. She's a very good businesswoman. Is that yellow thing a gate or a chair?'

'It's Christ on the cross, Mother,' Alex replied mockingly. 'I'm painting him in a summer garden to make his suffering more palatable to the viewer.'

Euterpe sniffed and pulled off her white kid gloves with a brisk snap. 'Make your jokes at your old mother's expense, but I've seen much more of the world, and it wouldn't hurt you to heed my advice.'

'And what advice would that be? On my painting or on my lack of children, or perhaps you'd like to know exactly how large Ranelagh's bed was.'

Horrified, Euterpe stared at her daughter. 'Now I'll have to have the priests say a thousand prayers for your soul.'

'They can save their prayers for the starving beggars in the streets. Those poor souls need God's grace more than I.'

'You may ridicule my concern all you wish, but mark my words, Ranelagh will ruin you and then leave you