Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

When the viscount returned to the bed, he brought two items of jewelry as a means of diverting the lady from further thoughts of his coming in her. Jewelry, he’d found, generally soothed over any and all awkwardnesses.

As he placed the two items in her palm, Claire murmured, “You shouldn’t.”

“Take them, they’re small.” Sitting next to her, he added, “Try them on.”

They weren’t small, of course, the necklace and earrings of large pearls an extravagant gift. “Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be more sure.”

Indecisive, she looked at the pearls, then at him.

“Come, darling.” He held out his hand. “Pearls are a innocuous gift. Let me help you put them on.”

She had never had so grand a gift. “I don’t know…”

“Leave them here to wear if you’d rather,” he offered, suspecting her reservations had to do with propriety. “No one need know.”

Her misgivings eased by Ormond’s discrete alternative, she gave into wistful desires. “I thank you then, most kindly. They’re very beautiful.”

Her delight pleased him more than he would have thought possible. After helping her put on the baroque pearl earrings and necklace, he watched her flushed smile as she gazed at herself in the hand mirror he’d brought over. How fortunate he was to have invited Miss Harriet to his masquerade, he reflected. If not for that calculated lure, he would not have met this little auburn-haired tigress with her lush body and greedy cunt. And he would not now be trying to decide how long he wished to keep her.

Which thought prompted him to rise from the bed, walk to the armoire and take out one of the new gowns he’d commissioned. He, better than most, understood how a new wardrobe could influence a lady’s decisions.

“No, no, I can’t possible take it!” Claire exclaimed as he carried over a sumptuous yellow tulle gown embellished with diamont sparkles that shimmered like sunbeams.

“I thought this color would go well with your coloring,” he said, ignoring her protest and dropping the frothy cloud of tulle on her lap.

“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.

“You could wear it to Catherine’s next entertainment,” he said, knowing that Madame Leonie’s creation had accomplished its mission.

“How did you know the size?” Claire inquired a few minutes later, twirling before the cheval glass, wide-eyed in awe.

“I guessed.” He was standing nearby after having hooked up the back of the gown, admiring her mounded breasts spilling over the low décolletage.

She stopped twirling. “Because you do this often.”

“Never,” he lied. “Don’t look at me like that. I was fortunate. I guessed right, that’s all. Now come here so I can take it off. I’m going through withdrawal already.”

“What if I say no?” Whether she was half teasing or dead serious, she wasn’t quite sure. Her obsession with him was unnerving; everything about this luxurious apartment he’d forged in a day for his sexual pleasure was disquieting.

“I’d say don’t waste your time.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”

“I don’t have to do everything you say.” Could she resist or couldn’t she? Did she even want to when he offered a degree of pleasure beyond her wildest imagination?

“Of course you don’t,” he murmured, advancing toward her.

“James, don’t you dare!” She ran behind a chair, her feelings volatile and capricious. Her body on the other hand, already liquid with longing.

He stopped in his tracks, gauging her response, assured after surveying her flushed cheeks and heaving breasts that what she said and what she meant were at odds. “That chair’s not going to save you, darling.”

“If you must know, I’m fighting my obsession with you. There, I have confessed. You may add me to your adoring ranks of females.”

“We are both obsessed, darling. I’m obsessed with everything about you,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty. “And to be perfectly frank-” he paused for a moment, debating whether to voice his surprising thought-“I’ve never felt this way before.” There, that was truthful and ambiguous at the same time; he relaxed.

“Oh, that is excellent above all things,” Claire said with relief, “because I’m not sure I can actually do without-well-” she paused, her gaze on his upthrust erection lying flat against his stomach.

“This?” Back on familiar ground, he smiled. “It’s all yours,” he added, running his fingertips up his turgid cock.

She took a small breath as his erection soared higher. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whispered, passion and reason at loggerheads.

“I do,” he said, very, very softly, moving forward, lifting the chair aside. “You and I are going to make love,” he murmured, taking her in his arms. “And afterward I’m going to hold you close and tell you how wonderful you make me feel.”

“This is very strange,” she breathed, gazing up at him.

“It’s good strange, darling.”

She nodded and smiled and gave herself up to the pleasure he so casually dispensed.

Her gown was removed with dispatch. Ormond’s facility for undressing women was second to none. In the course of the afternoon, they made love in infinite, passionate variety. She had a tyro’s enthusiasm that could awaken the most jaded appetites, while his expertise was put to the test by the lady’s insatiable desires.

At last, recognizing she was becoming weak from pleasure-her last climax ending in a voiceless sigh-he paused for an intermission.

Not that he wasn’t still in hot pursuit.

But for the interim, he was hugely and unconditionally gratified.

Turning his head on the pillow a few moments later, Ormond gazed at Claire lying beside him. “You make me happy,” he murmured, a contentment he’d thought forever lost, recaptured. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “What conjuring spell have you placed on me?”

Sluggishly coming to her senses, the deep timbre of his voice triggering every pleasure receptor in her body, Claire whispered, eyes shut, “Au contraire-I am bewitched by you.”

“Then stay. Don’t go. Stay now and tomorrow and-”

His allusion to time burst her blissful bubble. Springing up into a sitting position, Claire shot a look at the clock. “It’s almost six!” she cried, scrambling to reach the edge of the bed.

Quickly grabbing her, Ormond pulled her back down. “Hush-everything’s fine. Your family is having dinner at Catherine’s tonight. I forgot to tell you.”

“While I forget the world is yours to command,” she muttered pettishly, reminded once again with what ease he used his authority.

“I only did it because of you. I am caught in your enchanted web.” Rolling on his side, he dipped his head and kissed her gently. “And strangely, I don’t care.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You will soon enough.” Her life did not allow for prolonged flights of fancy.

Propped on one elbow, he gazed at her with amusement. “Since my feelings are my own, my mulish little darling, allow me to disagree. I don’t suppose you could close down your school for a time?” he went on with the restraint of a Quaker. “I’d like you to see my country home.”

“You know I can’t.” Wincing at the sourness in her words, she added, “I have enjoyed myself immensely, you know that. It’s just that I have obligations.”

“Think about it at least.”

“Very well.” She chose not to argue with Ormond; as she’d discovered recently, he had a most delicious way of challenging defiance. Not that she was complaining with her body still basking in the glow of numerous orgasms.

“Perfect.” He kissed her again, for a more lengthy interval this time.

For such a gratifying and beguiling interval that Claire began to waver on the prospect of a country holiday.

“I could find you a substitute teacher,” he whispered against her mouth, as if he knew, as if her heated little whimpers were a precursor to a more tractable position on the subject of visits to country homes. “You could tell your aunt you’ve been hired for-”

A knock echoed from the drawing room.

Claire instantly recoiled, her wide-eyed gaze filled with alarm. “You have servants here?” Servants’ gossip being what it was, her name would be linked with Ormond’s by morning.

“I thought you might need something,” he said with his usual disregard for the world at large and servants in particular.

“Good God, James!” she whispered, nervously pulling the covers up. “What could I possibly want from your servants?”

“I don’t know-food or a bath,” Ormond calmly replied, rolling out of bed. “Or someone to help you with your hair,” he nonchalantly added, striding naked toward the drawing room. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Or so it was in his world, she noted, horror-stricken that he hadn’t shut the bedroom door behind him.

As Claire lay in the princely bed fearful that she would be discovered, that her career would be in ruins-that she would be ruined, the viscount opened the outside door without regard for his nudity. Taking the envelope offered him by his valet, he nodded in dismissal, shut the door, unfolded the sheet of paper and read the note as he walked back to the bedroom. He was smiling broadly as he handed the paper to Claire. “This was delivered to your schoolroom. Forgive me for opening it, but I saw it was from your aunt and I thought she might alarm you in some way. Actually she has excellent news-her scurrilous comments aside.”

Sitting up, Claire rapidly scanned the sheet with her aunt’s large, bold handwriting. A moment later, she looked up, wide-eyed at Ormond. “Eloped?” she whispered.

“The deed is done and unless I miss my guess, Seego’s parents had a hand in it. Seego would need a special license, not easily acquired, and of course a charitable curate-his father’s no doubt. We must send congratulations to the happy couple.”

“My aunt is raging.”

“Very foolishly I would say. Harriet has made an excellent match.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled at her from the foot of the bed, thinking she belonged in his bed wherever it may be. “Why don’t I find out the particulars,” he pleasantly offered. “Will that assuage your doubts?”

“Certainly it would help. You don’t seem surprised.” Her gaze narrowed. “Did you have a hand in this?”

“I may have mentioned the word elopement, last night at Brooks,” he said with a flash of a grin. “And don’t say you’re angry with me when your sister has come off so well.”

“I’m not angry, if it’s true,” she answered, a modicum of doubt evident in her voice.

“Never fear. It’s true. If you had talked to Seego last night, you would know. But let me send off a messenger.” Turning away, he walked into the drawing room and shouted for his valet.

A small, wiry, middle-aged man appeared on the run, the men exchanged a few brief words, and Ormond returned to the bedroom.

“Who was that?” Claire whispered, huddled under the covers, knowing she could never be so dégagé as to stand naked before a servant.

“Lamont, my valet. He’s completely trustworthy. Have no fear. I took the liberty of sending your aunt a message as well. I told her you were invited to dinner at Lord and Lady Arnoudt’s. She is not to worry.”

“It seems your world is always smooth water and fair winds.” She tried to keep the petulance out of her voice and failed.

“Allow me the pleasure of easing your life as well,” he gently said, understanding the reasons for her peevishness.

“I should become spoiled. Then how would I feel when you grew bored with me?”

“I won’t.” He was unprepared for the intense pleasure he felt at his reply. “Furthermore,” he added, her mention of boredom bringing to mind the reason he’d needed his solicitor that morning, “I have a guarantee that you will enjoy independence in all respects-although hopefully not from me.”

Moving to a small bonheur du jour in the corner of the bedroom, he extracted a sheaf of papers from the drawer. “You are the new owner of this building,” he said, returning to the bed and handing her the papers. “So you will no longer be beholden to your aunt, your school will not be in jeopardy, and I will continue as your tenant as long as you want me.” Dropping onto the bed, he stretched out in a lazy sprawl. “You see,” he said very softly, “you hold my happiness in your hands.”

Pushing up on the pillows, she quickly scanned the document. “I can’t take so generous a gift,” she said, dropping the papers on Ormond’s chest.

“Too late.” He tossed the pages on the carpet. “Your name’s on the deed. Sell it if you don’t want it.”

“It’s too much,” she explained. “It’s outrageously extravagant.”

How to reply without belittling her worth when the purchase price was a mere bagatelle for him. “You deserve much more, darling,” he replied. Tracing the curve of her arm with his fingertip, he knew he didn’t wish to let her go, not now, not ever. Whether it was primal male prerogative or the more admirable emotion called love he knew not. But he didn’t want her to leave him. “What would you say to the proposition that we take a page out of Seego’s book and elope?” A gambler by instinct and choice, he went for broke.