He nudged her lips with his tongue, and she opened, cautiously at first, then used her own tongue to taste him. She pressed her body against his and moaned softly.
After almost a full minute of pleasure, Driscoll pulled away and scattered kisses along her jawline, on the soft skin under her ear. “I want you so much, Amelia. Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’m tortured with the idea of you sleeping here, so very near to my office.”
He smoothed his palms up her arms and cupped her face, turning her head to take her lips once again, going deeper, demanding surrender. With a slight moan from deep in her chest, Amelia wrapped her arms around his waist and ran her hands over his back.
Reluctantly, Driscoll pulled back and stared at her. Amelia’s face was flushed, and her eyes slowly drifted open. The only sound to be heard was the panting coming from the two of them as they attempted to regain control.
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I must go now,” he whispered as he slowly tucked a loose curl behind her ear. He could not push her any further. And he would never compromise a woman under his employ, nor would he dally with a well-bred young lady who must save her virtue for her husband.
Husband.
He took a deep breath. Until he knew more about her, her background, and what she as running from he could not go down that path. He needed to bide his time and get to know her better.
Have her trust him.
He bent and kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Amelia.” Before he could change his mind, he strode determinedly from the overwhelming temptation, down the corridor, and entered his office.
’Twas too bad he didn’t keep brandy in his office. Making a decision completely unlike him, he left the office and took the stairs to the game floor.
The noise and confusion that usually raised his spirits did nothing except encourage him in his quest for a drink.
“Good evening, Driscoll. Am I to believe you are here for a drink?” Stephen, the man serving the bar that evening grinned.
“Yes.” Driscoll ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s been one of those nights.”
Stephen poured a brandy into a snifter and set it before Driscoll. “I heard you were training the new girl who is taking over for Marcus. Was the session so difficult, then?”
Driscoll downed half the drink in one gulp. “No.” He coughed, as the brandy took his breath away. “Not at all. She is very clever, and I expect Miss Pence to be able to relieve Marcus this week.”
“That’s good. I know he’s ready to move into the security spot,” Stephen said.
They chatted for a few minutes, discussing the upcoming yearly ball and the preparations needed. Dante joined them and motioned for Stephen to pour him a drink.
“How did the training go?” his brother asked as he swirled his brandy in the snifter.
“Very well. Amelia is bright as we’ve noted before. She was a tad nervous at the start, but by the end of the session she was quite confident.”
Dante nodded. “Good. We could use her tomorrow.”
“Already?”
“Yes. Miles must travel to his home in Yorkshire for his mother’s funeral. Marcus can step into his place and Amelia can take over the vingt-et-un table.” He raised his cut crystal glass to take a sip and stopped. “Unless you think she can’t do it. I don’t want to put too much pressure on the girl.”
“I think she can do it. Perhaps I can stay close to her for a little while to offer support.”
Dante grinned as only his brother could. “Stay close to her, eh?” He finished his drink and slammed the glass down onto the bar. “Whatever you need to do.” With a smirk and a slight salute, he strolled away, chuckling.
Blasted brothers. Why did he need them?
Stephen was busy handing out complimentary drinks to members, so Driscoll sauntered over to the vingt-et-un table to watch the game for a while.
Marcus was indeed competent, and dealt the hands with ease, and a touch of boredom. It was truly time to move him into security.
With training Amelia, he hadn’t done anything with the books, so he made his way upstairs to the office. He raised the flame on the gas lamp on the wall by the door and headed to his desk.
He pulled out two ledgers and drew the stack of IOUs toward him. Most of the members arrived with enough blunt to see them through the night, but there were always those who gambled beyond what they’d brought or didn’t have enough to begin with and thought they’d make it up at the tables.
Even though he and his brothers owned a gaming club, he’d never been a gambler himself. As a young man fresh from University, he’d done his share of gambling, drinking and whoring, but soon determined there was nothing to be had for him in such a life.
What he never understood was how a man could gamble away his fortune, and in some cases, everything he owned that wasn’t entailed. As a general rule, they would usually escort a man out of the building if it looked like he was getting in way over his head. But in the end, they were running a business and that business was gambling. If a man wanted to throw his money away, he would just as easily do it at another club.
Numbers did not interest him enough tonight. Not with the picture in his mind of Amelia warm and soft and lying in a bed only a few doors away. He slammed the book shut and left the office again.
Thank heavens the night was almost over.
* * *
Amelia turned in her bed, crossed her hands over her middle, and stared at the canopy overhead. By the looks of the sun coming through the window it must have been close to noontime. Although Driscoll had left her
