Desire Me Now (11 page)

When the liquid in the glass started to cloud, Mr. Riley turned off the water again.
Sliding the glass toward her, he tipped what was left of the sugar in the glass and
stirred it into the drink.

She wondered if he saw the hunger in her eyes that said just how much she desired
this man.

“The cloud is called the
louche
,” he explained, though she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his eyes. “It is from
the oils in the alcohol blending with the water. The color also tells you when it’s
the right consistency for taste.”

Removing the spoon, he pushed the glass back toward her.

“Try it. See if you like it.”

For some reason, she didn’t think he was talking about the drink.

She picked the glass up tentatively, not sure what she would think, but the smell
that reached her nose was surprisingly more pleasant than she had anticipated—like
black licorice and anise-seed cake served on special occasions.

“If you recall, you thought I would enjoy the coffee too,” she teased.

“Then I ask you to trust me once more. I endeavor not to steer you wrong again.”

She tipped the glass against her lips ever so slightly. The liquid that slipped past
her lips was more chilled than she expected and stronger than she anticipated, but
it glided easily over her tongue, a little sweet and a little tart all at once.

Lowering the glass, she noticed that Mr. Riley was focused on her lips. When he leaned
closer, she worried that he planned to kiss her in front of all the people in the
café.

She cleared her throat. “Why did you break off with Victoria?”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “We cannot make each other happy.”

She didn’t mention that they looked quite happy talking and walking together earlier
tonight. That would make her seem like an old jealous shrew. Instead of saying anything
more, she took another sip of her drink. This time she was expecting the strong flavor
and took a bigger swallow than she probably should have. She laughed a little at her
stupidity, and some of the absinthe dribbled between her lips and the glass. She set
the glass down and looked for a cloth to wipe it away.

“Do not worry,” Mr. Riley said.

She looked at him for a moment, panic causing her heart to race and pump blood furiously
through her veins. He couldn’t mean to act rashly in a room filled with people she
didn’t know but who obviously knew him. Before she could swipe the liquid away herself,
his hand reached up, his thumb catching the drop of liquid from her chin, and then
settling against the middle of her lip, sweeping back and forth.

Her lips parted, and an anxious breath rushed out.

Though it felt like an eternity and that they would be caught for their open indiscretion,
his touching her was but a stolen second of time. His warmth was done before she knew
it, as though time had only suspended the moment for them, and no one else had been
privy to the intimacy that had passed between them.

When he pulled his thumb away, he sucked it into his mouth, making the encounter more
intimate.

Looking back at her glass, she realized she had drunk more than half the liquid. Come
to think of it, she was feeling a little lightheaded, though she attributed that to
Mr. Riley’s close proximity, which was too close and too far away all at the same
time.

Mr. Riley paid her no mind for a moment, giving her time to think about his actions,
about her willingness to accept them without thought of what it would mean for her
future. He’d told her that he’d have her in the end, but she hadn’t taken into consideration
the true weight of those words.

Before she knew it, Mr. Riley was preparing a second glass of absinthe. Her mind whirled
in so many directions that she was too afraid to say anything—too worried she’d say
the wrong thing. But she was gathering up the courage to find out what he wanted from
her.

“Do you mean to make me your mistress tonight?” She frowned at herself. That hadn’t
been what she’d meant to ask, and she was thankful he was at a loss on how to respond.
Unable to look at him, she spun her glass by the base on the table.

His fingers lightly pinched the edge of her chin and turned her head so she was forced
to face him with her accusations, though why call them that? She wanted exactly that,
didn’t she?

“I have told you that you will come to me of your own free will. You will not be my
mistress. I want more than a bed partner from you.”

“What else is there, where men are concerned?” Wasn’t that what her brother’s friends,
and then the man her brother had promised her to had thought? That she was only good
for one thing. That lying on her back for a man was the exact path she was trying
to avoid.

“I ran away from home because my brother was unkind and cruel at every turn.” She
left out the part about her being sold to another man to pay off her brother’s debts,
as that didn’t have any bearing on this conversation.

“I will never force you to do anything. But Amelia . . . ” Her name caught her attention,
and his eyes stared into hers once again. “You want this. Stop looking for reasons
to deny your desires.” His finger traced along the inside of her wrist.

She swallowed her denial. It would have been a lie, and of all people she didn’t want
to lie to, Mr. Riley topped that list.

“It is so easy for a man to say he will take something when he wants it. When a woman
takes what she wants, it often is at the cost of her reputation, her worth.”

“You’re confusing me with the men your brother failed to keep away from you.”

“I could never mistake you, Mr. Riley.” His previous comment gave her pause, as she
realized what he’d said. “How did you know his friends were a problem?”

“You just confirmed my suspicions.”

Drat. That had to be the effects of the absinthe. “Have I ever given you reason to
believe I was running from him?”

“I suspected you were running from something other than your last employer when we
met. You were too calm and collected about having been subjected to Sir Ian’s abuse,”
he said matter-of-factly. “I would have expected histrionics, at the very least. You
remained defiant in the name of self-preservation. Only a woman used to that kind
of treatment would act as you did.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Do you know a lot of women who have been in the same
type of predicament?”

“Too many.” The tone of his voice was dark, almost as if it was filled with pain.
She wanted him to elaborate but didn’t know how to ask that of him.

To lighten the mood, she said, “This might seem silly, but I never feared you. Not
from the first moment we met. You’re a good man. Or at least you have been nothing
but kind to everyone who works for you.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that said he disagreed with her assessment.

“Did you only help me because you saw something you wanted? Saw something you could
have if you did one small favor for a woman down on her luck?”

His face was right in front hers, his mouth scant inches from touching her mouth.
She should pull back but couldn’t find the strength to continually refuse him.

“You describe exactly how I view my work, my acquisitions in properties and businesses
alike,” he said. “I take what I want without regard to anyone else. Sometimes my intentions
are not pure, nor to the benefit of others. What you do not have is an accurate picture
of what I see in you.”

“Then explain it to me,” she said, frustrated that she hadn’t guarded her tongue.
She pulled away from him and drank down half the contents of her glass. She would
probably regret how much she’d imbibed come morning and how much her tongue had slipped
when it should have stayed. But Mr. Riley did not seem angry with her, more curious
about what she thought—or at least, that was the impression she got, being slightly
tipsy from the alcohol.

“I always find a way to get what I want, Miss Grant. Right now, that just so happens
to be you. Do not mistake me for the gentlemen you grew up around. I’m nothing of
the sort. I claim no good manners, but I will not hurt you as they did.”

“How do you know they were gentlemen?”

“Pigs, the lot of them from your comment about your brother. But I know you come from
a privileged background. I see it in your poise, in your every movement, in the way
you talk. I have always known.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t thought she was so easy to read. At least her tongue wasn’t
so loose as to reveal her identity. Though she could admit it was only a matter of
time before she would have to reveal that part of herself.

Mr. Riley’s large hands wrapped around hers where they were folded in her lap. He
brought one up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles and then each of her fingers.
Before he let that hand go he kissed the inside of her wrist, the action possessive.

“Trust me to take care of you, Amelia. I will not hurt you.”

“That does not negate the fact that you want exactly what my brother’s friends wanted.
I will not sell myself to the highest bidder. I came to London to escape that fate.”
My, she was bold while drinking absinthe, but for the first time in so long, she didn’t
want to take the words back. They were the truth, and it felt good to speak her mind.
“Why should I stumble and fall after making it this far?” she added.

“Because I will catch you,” he said without pause.

His words melted some of her resolve. She had wanted to barrage him with questions
until she understood everything that made him tick. Until she understood why he needed
to possess her so badly when there were surely dozens of other women willing and ready
to fall at his feet to do his every bidding.

It amazed her that she even thought that, but she’d watched everyone around her tonight.
Almost half the women at the restaurant seemed smitten with Mr. Riley, as though they
wanted to catch his eye so that he would choose them. But she, plain old Amelia, had
been the one on his arm.

Mr. Riley stood from the bench and gave her his hand. “We should enjoy the music.
Dance with me.”

“My ankle—”

“I’ll keep you steady. Leave your cane here. This will be our table for as long as
you wish to stay.”

After all her denials and speeches tonight, she still took his hand. She could admit
that she liked feeling lost in his arms. Just because she liked it didn’t mean she
was entitled to have it. But when they stood there on the small dance floor, it was
as if there was no one in that room but her, Mr. Riley, and the piano player.

The song changed to something less lively and more ballad-like. Mr. Riley didn’t hesitate
to spin her around, making her use her good foot, before his hand pressed against
her back and brought her body up tight along his.

“Put your foot with the bad ankle over my shoe.”

“I couldn’t.” She started to pull away, but Mr. Riley only tightened the grip he had
on her. “It will look indecent,” she said.

“And here I thought the absinthe had loosened your inhibitions enough that you would
trust me for at least one night.”

“I do trust you,” she said, meaning it.

“Then do as I ask.”

Despite all her points about men being made equal, she realized Mr. Riley stood alone
in her opinion. Instead of squabbling further, she set her foot atop his, and he immediately
started moving them around the floor as though they’d done this a thousand times.
She laughed gaily, feeling like she was flying in his arms. They spun around, moving
between and around other dancers with ease.

She had wanted to be lost in his arms, and that was exactly what she got. His hand
was pressed tightly to her back above the small bustle and fall of her dress; his
other held her hand like you would for a waltz. Their pelvises were crushed together,
though all she could feel of him was his strong thighs as he moved through the steps
of some unknown dance. Her chest was crushed against his as well, and while the rules
for dancing were to keep space between partners, she liked how close he held her.
Relished it, actually.

When the song ended and a livelier piece was played, Mr. Riley didn’t stop; he merely
adjusted his grip, held her tighter, and spun her around faster. Both her feet were
atop his at this point, for she couldn’t keep up with the quick steps of the piece
the piano player pounded out.

She laughed halfway through the set, not remembering the last time she’d been able
to just let go and enjoy herself as she did now. It was exhilarating. Freeing. It
was a perfect night, and one she would never forget.

Gasping for air and from their laughter, Mr. Riley spun her around on her good foot
and set them in the direction of their table. She couldn’t say why she was out of
breath, as he’d done most of the work and all she’d had to do was hold on.

“Wherever did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, still breathless as she slid
back into her seat. One of her curls had fallen, and she had to pin it back in place.
She was afraid to see herself in a mirror right now, but she imagined her cheeks were
flushed and her hair a mess of curls popping out everywhere. She had to fan herself
to cool her blood.

“My mother taught me to dance, if you can believe it,” Mr. Riley answered. “And the
girls who worked with her.”

“What did your mother do?”

Someone had set another glass with ice on the table in their absence. Mr. Riley fished
a few out with tongs and dropped them in her drink as he slid it toward her.

Amelia spun the glass around, letting the ice chill her drink. “Why did you not order
one?”

“Because I prefer whisky.” He leaned in close to her, not that anyone could hear their
conversation with all the noise, celebrations, and good times going on around them.
“Besides I would rather taste it from your lips.”

She stared at the swirling contents of her glass. “I do not know how I’m supposed
to respond when you say such things.”