Susan Johnson - Gorgeous As Sin

“Do you think it’s wise? ” An indication of his affection. He would not in the past have been so altruistic.

“Don’t even start again,” she said with a delicious pout.

“Very well,” Fitz replied, understanding there were times to hold one’s ground and times not to. “Let me see to my obligations.” Setting her aside, he sat up and began undressing.

“That’s better,” she lightly said. It would never do to pretend making love was anything more than a game. “And I have orders for you this time.”

THEY WERE WAKENED early by a loud rapping on the door.

“I’ll go,” Rosalind said, not about to let Fitz open the door. Still half-asleep, she stumbled downstairs to find a telegram messenger at her door and instantly went pale. Outside of the business community, telegrams were only used in emergencies-generally for deaths in the family. Her hand was trembling as she took the telegram from the young boy.

After the youth was gone, she stared at the folded sheet, fainthearted. Finally, she shut her eyes, ripped it open, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and quickly scanned the brief message.

GROVELAND’S AGENT WAS Here TO DISCUSS Sale Of YOUR STORE WITH MOTHER and FATHER. TWENTY THOUSAND IS a FORTUNE. Very STRONGLY ADVISE YOU ACCEPT Offer WITHOUT delay. ALGERNON.

Her fear turned to anger, and for a moment Rosalind couldn’t decide where first to direct her wrath: at Fitz for sending the agent or at her brother for meddling in her life. As usual.

Since Algernon had the advantage of being beyond range, it was left to Fitz to bear the brunt of her displeasure. However, after a night of incredible bliss and given her unquestionable affection for the man who was the source of unalloyed sexual pleasure, she found herself unable to dredge up a suitable rage. After all, only the day before yesterday he’d said again that he intended to do everything he could to buy her property. She certainly couldn’t accuse him of guile.

By the time she walked through the store and ascended the stairs, she’d calmed down. If she wanted Algernon’s advice, she’d ask for it. As for Fitz’s attempt to influence her family, apparently neither her mother or father had been persuaded. A point for her side, she decided.

Entering the bedroom a few moments later, she held the telegram aloft. “No one died I’m happy to say. Instead, my brother sends news of your agent’s visit. Apparently, he met with my family and Algernon instructs me to sell to you.”

Fitz was lounging on the bed, and as she spoke he closely assessed her tone and expression, neither of which he characterized as lethal. His smile flashed white against his swarthy skin. “A sensible man, your brother.”

“I should beat you,” she muttered, dropping the telegram on the floor as she moved toward the bed.

His gaze was amused. “Please do.”

“Stop, Fitz! I’m very angry with you.”

“I understand, although if you come a little closer,” he murmured, “I know I could make you feel better.”

“Damn you,” she grumbled, unable to walk away when she should, when anyone with sense would toss him out on his ear. Dropping onto the bed, she slapped away his hands, leaned back against the headboard, and fixed her gaze on him. “No matter what,” she said heated and sulky, “sex aside, even wild, explosive sex, I’m never selling my store.”

“I believe I may have heard that once or twice before,” he pleasantly said, his hard, lean body all grace and power beside her, his skin dark against the whiteness of the sheets. “Not that your views or mine should interfere in any way with our carnal interests. Come, darling,” he gently coaxed, careful not to touch her. “I haven’t had near enough of you.” A jarring thought after a night of sex, but shockingly true.

“Just so you understand I mean it,” Rosalind grumbled, although her body was already opening in spontaneous welcome; he had but to ask and the entire essence of her being was ready to oblige him.

“I understand completely. I really do.” He could sense her arousal and felt better, not wishing to be alone in this insanity. “But I also understand,” he said, quietly cajoling, “that you and I have some improbable sexual connection that has redefined the perimeters of pleasure. And whatever it is-aberrant or extraordinary-I need it and you and to hell with the rest.”

She made a moue, struggling to equate her reckless need with anything at all in her life prior to Fitz. “Are you sure this”-she wiggled her finger between them-“is really wise? ”

“Sure as I’m breathing.”

“That sure.” But she felt a warm glow melt away her misgivings.

“Oh, yes, my darling nymphet. Whatever it is you have, I want, day and night, night and day. I am seriously crazed.”

She smiled, her gaze teasing. “I expect you tell all the ladies that.”

He snorted. “Naive babe. I am the Sphinx itself to everyone but you.” He frowned briefly with his world in total flux, then smiled again because he didn’t really give a damn. “Now, come here,” he said, his one-track brain on track, “and let me hear you scream again when you climax. I swear my cock doubles in size at the sound.” That, too, was unnerving, but not so much that he was willing to forgo the pleasure.

She quickly glanced at the clock.

“There’s time,” he said. “Although, if you’d let me, I could find some help for your store and you could entertain me without interruptions.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Tempting, but I relish my independence.”

“I wasn’t asking for your independence, just this.” He reached out and brushed a fingertip over her silky mons. “Otherwise, stay as independent as you wish.”

“As would you, I expect.”

His eyes widened for a fleeting second, the notion of curtailing his freedom unimaginable. But he’d not polished his skills in boudoirs around the world without acquiring the necessary gallantries. “Perhaps you can persuade me otherwise,” he amiably said.

“How urbane you are, Fitz.” She smiled. “But hardly believable.”

Not willing to expressly perjure himself, he smoothly replied, “I have something you can believe in; I’m ready to fuck you anytime, anywhere, any which way.”

“Then we share a common interest,” she sweetly returned, knowing better than to persist in a conversation of little value to either of them. “You have another hour to show me your formidable skills, and then I must bathe and dress for the day.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind-that I couldn’t interest you in a drive out to Mertenside on this lovely summer day? ”

“Now I know what it’s like to see the devil with an apple.”

“I’d be more than willing to reform if you but asked,” he playfully observed.

While she hadn’t meant it literally, Fitz was indeed temptation incarnate. And she wondered for a cheerless moment how she would bear it when he left her. Quickly dismissing her melancholy when happiness was within her grasp, she facetiously replied, “Let me write up a list of remedial measures for you to undertake.”

He grabbed her then, no longer asking permission, unwilling to wait a minute longer, doing what he pleased as befitted both his station in life and his expertise in the bedchamber. Rolling onto his back, he effortlessly lifted her, deposited her prone form on top of him, and gently wrapped his arms around her. “There now,” he whispered, gazing up at her, “all is right with the world.”

She wished for that moment she might arrest the passage of time and preserve forever the look of tenderness in his eyes, the euphoric happiness that infused her soul, the sumptuous sensation of her skin on his as she lay atop him.

How was it that the wanting never went away?

What had happened to her a few short days ago that she no longer had command over her emotions-or her life?

“I should say no to you a thousand times a thousand different ways.”

His shoulder lifted in the merest shrug. “Just not now,” he said in gentle dissent, unwilling at present to face the brutal cross-purposes of their lives.

“As if I could anyway,” she answered with a small sigh.

His smile could have rivaled the sun. “Good. Good,” he said again, in relief or perhaps only in pleasure.

Then in a smooth roll, he shifted their positions and as smoothly entered her. He made love to her slowly, slowly, not letting her rush, wanting it to last, as if time were his enemy. And she concurred, understanding after the night past when sex had become something more-something meaningful and pure-that what they shared was rare.

He shouldn’t have come in her. He had no idea why he did. He immediately apologized and offered to run to the chemist for a palliative douche.

She should have been outraged. Instead, she calmly said, “Once can’t be a very serious problem. Don’t worry.”

When in the past he would have been not only worried but also uneasy as hell, he just reached for one of the towels that was laying about, and said, “I can wipe you up at least.”

“I suppose it is the least you can do, darling,” she quipped. “Considering the lapse was yours.”

“I really am sorry,” he softly said.

“I know.”

And a small sadness quite separate from their conversation momentarily surfaced.

Experienced at avoiding earnestness, Fitz spoke first, asking if he should run her bath.

She congratulated herself for her poise in responding.

And for the remainder of their time together, both were careful to speak only of banalities. They breakfasted together, then walked downstairs when it was time for the store to open. Fitz kissed her good-by and started to leave, but after only a step or two he came back to the counter and kissed her again before finally walking out of the store.

She watched him until his figure disappeared into the crowds on the pavement.

ON REACHING HOME, Fitz sat with his mother as she breakfasted, acknowledging her attempts at conversation with distracted monosyllabic replies so often, she finally said, “Good heavens, Georgie, it’s not the end of life as you know it to actually harbor some feelings for a woman.”

He shot her a look of stunned surprise and set down the glass of brandy he was holding.

“Sweetheart,” she softly said, “you aren’t the first person in the world to be enamored. Nor is it necessarily an evil requiring three brandies at this time of day. Personally, I’d say it’s about time.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“As you wish.”

“That’s exactly what I wish,” he curtly said.

“Fine. Would you like another brandy? ”

“No. She writes erotica,” he gruffly said, looking at his mother from under his lashes. “About me.” His mouth twitched into a mocking smile. “Does that change your notion about Mrs. St. Vincent’s place in my life? ”

“What place is that, darling? ” his mother asked, unfazed by Rosalind’s writing.

“One that screws up everything.”

“Does it have to? ”

He sighed. “That unfortunately is the current riddle of the universe.”

“Because you’re about to ruin her.”

“Probably.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going north to Craievar for grouse hunting.”

“Now? ”

“Tomorrow.” He ignored Pansy dancing at his feet, yipping for attention. “Do you need anything before I go? ”

“Not at all. I’m fine, darling. Do you know when you’ll return? ”

“No.”

He was moving away from the table as he spoke, so she decided against saying what was on her mind. “Are you home for dinner tonight, dear? ” she called out.

He raised his hand and waggled his fingers in answer, and a moment later closed the breakfast room door behind him.

“My, my, my,” Julia said aloud, picking up Pansy and setting her on her lap. Her little boy was nonplused by a woman. And not just any woman, but a woman who didn’t toady to his wealth and title and wrote about his boudoir athletics. Definitely a woman of extraordinary character.

Julia checked the small calendar on the jeweled timepiece pinned to her bodice and smiled. She rather thought Fitz wouldn’t be staying in Scotland long.

ALGERNON FOUND FITZ at Brooks’s that afternoon, having been directed there by Stanley. In his moodiness, Fitz was seated alone in a corner of the reading room, safe from his friends who never read. A bottle of brandy, half-empty, sat at his elbow, a full glass in his hand, and sunk as he was in peevish, sullen reflection, Rosalind’s brother was forced to clear his throat twice before Fitz looked up.

“I’m Pitt-Riverston,” Algernon said. “I came down to London to speak with you.”

Fitz regarded Rosalind’s brother with a shuttered gaze. “May I offer you a brandy? ” he said, and after a nod from Algernon, he waved him to a chair and raised his hand for a flunkey.