The sound of the door softly shutting should have put period to his restless desires. Any man of conscience would adhere to a lady’s wishes.
And he did for the time it took to drink another bottle.
Chapter 2
She was sleeping, but she heard the key turning in the lock as if she’d been waiting for it. As the door quietly opened and closed, she sat up in the large curtained bed in the fire-lit room. “You must have wakened the housekeeper for the key,” she said to the man leaning against the door.
“She didn’t mind.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“I thought I’d find out.”
“You haven’t changed.”
Who did? he thought, but he was on his best behavior. “Do you like the applewood fire? I told the housekeeper applewood was a requirement.”
“Thank you. Now, are we going to pretend you’re not here for all the obvious reasons? Are we going to discuss the weather too?”
“I thought we did that rather thoroughly at dinner.” His smile flashed white in the dimness. “But if you wish…”
“What I wish apparently makes no difference to you. I expressly said I’d be locking my door.”
“If you want me to leave, tell me.”
“I’m not sure you’d leave even if I wished it.”
“I see.” Neutral, noncommittal; a man who had no intention of leaving.
“No, you don’t Your focus, as usual-as always-is only on what you want,” she said sharply.
“I don’t want to fight.” He didn’t say he had no answer to such a blanket condemnation. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
His voice was deep and low, velvety with suggestion. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he was offering her what he offered every woman. And that was the crux of her dilemma. Whether she wished to requalify as one of his legion of lovers. She frowned. “How many times have you offered a woman carte blanche?”
“Lord, Caro, you’re prickly. Never. All right?”
“Liar.”
He shrugged. “Twice, then. How’s that?”
Or pick a number, she thought, half-rankled, half-enticed-and unfortunately-wavering. She wished he didn’t look the way he looked: too handsome, too available, too sure of himself.
And she wished she didn’t feel the way she did… hungry for him, or maybe for any handsome man offering her what he was offering.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, Caro,” he murmured as the silence lengthened. “Tell me what you want.”
Problematic, dangerous words. She took a small breath, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Was he sincere? Maybe. Did it matter? “I haven’t had sex in a year,” she blurted out.
“Really,” he said, quelling his shock beneath the mildness of his tone. “A year.” He hadn’t had sex in forty-eight hours, but it might be counterproductive to mention it now. That’s a very long time,“ he said politely.
She couldn’t help but smile, not only at his tact but at his nonchalance. “So as long as you’re here, you’re thinking.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“Well, I’m thinking I might as well make use of you.” There. No more flustered uncertainty.
His teeth gleamed perfect and white. “At your service, ma’am.” He pushed away from the door.
She laughed. “So compliant, Simon. I hardly recognize you.”
He slid his dark jacket off and tossed it on a chair. “After five long years, darling, I’m more than willing to be conciliatory… or as you put it-used.” His voice lowered to a silky murmur. “What would you like first?”
Perhaps a year really had been too long. Perhaps she’d always been rash with Simon. Or maybe now that she’d crossed that irrevocable line, there was no point in pretending. “What I would like,” she murmured, echoing his silky intonation,“ is no preliminaries and that,” she pointed at his obvious erection, “inside me.”
He grinned. “Talk about people not changing.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not if it isn’t for you.”
A small warning perhaps. She leaned back against the pillows, spread her arms along the cushiony tops and slowly surveyed him. “It definitely isn’t at the moment”
“Because you haven’t had sex for a year,” he murmured, thinking her breasts were splendid, thrust out like that with her arms raised.
The most compelling of impulses, I admit.“
“So anyone would do,” he said, the sudden thought disagreeable.
“Acquit me of your democratic tendencies, darling. I’ve always been more selective than you.”
He frowned faintly. “You sound like a courtesan.” She looked like one as well with her indolent pose and bold gaze, her plain, white nightgown notwithstanding. Even sackcloth would fail to conceal her flamboyant, lush curves.
“Don’t tell me you’ve become prudish. Have you given up courtesans?”
“What the hell does that mean?” How had she supported herself after the divorce?
“It means have you given up courtesans? I believe a simple yes or no would answer the question.”
“You’re beginning to piss me off.” Although his resentment may have been spurred by something other than her impudence.
“Oh, dear. When I thought you’d be staying.”
“I’d forgotten how irritating you could be,” he muttered, untying his cravat and sliding it off, dropping it on the floor.
“I, on the other hand, haven’t forgotten how faithless you could be.”
“Don’t start, Caro. I’m not in the mood.”
She glanced at his swift unbuttoning of his buff and blue striped waistcoat “But apparently you’re in the mood for something.”
“I thought you were interested in ending your year-long celibacy.” His tone was as mocking, his gaze insulting. “If that’s even true.”
She suddenly sat upright and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Everyone’s not a liar like you. Get out I’ve changed my mind.”
“Too fucking late.” His waistcoat joined his cravat on the floor.
“Are you some barbarian who would force his unwanted attentions on a lady?” she sneered.
“Give me a minute and we’ll see about the unwanted part,” he muttered through the linen shirt he was pulling over his head.
Her voice turned waspish. “You always were arrogant”
“And you always were one hot little piece as I recall,” he drawled, tossing his shirt on the bed. Balancing on one foot, he leaned over to pull off a boot.
Caroline tried to suppress the flutter of excitement racing through her senses. But the startling width of his shoulders was too near, the taut sweep of his back too familiar, the powerful muscles rippling across his torso and arms too graphically male. “Simon, I want you out of here!” she said fiercely, as though the force of her words might bolster her uncertain resolve.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, demonstrably untouched by her vehemence. “Are we giving orders? Then take off that nightgown.”
“I most certainly will not.”
“Sure you will.” He stood upright. “Or if you want to wait until I get these trousers off, I’ll do it for you.”
She trembled when she shouldn’t-when she should hold such brazen insolence in contempt. But not yet lost to all sanity, she managed to speak in a level voice. “You forget, I’m not one of your tractable females. You won’t be touching me. Simon. I forbid it.”
He shot her an amused glance. “You should be on the stage.”
His casual dismissal reminded her of another night when he’d brushed off her recriminations, when her feelings hadn’t mattered. When the pain he’d caused had changed her life forever. And hadn’t she just freed herself of a man who thought only of himself? ‘You should be using your charm on someone more susceptible. You’re not having your way this time, Simon. I mean it.“
“I’m bigger,” he murmured.
“And I can scream louder. Get out.”