Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells (22 page)

“No. They think it reeks of lounge lizard.”

His answer surprised a laugh out of her. “Then why would it work on me?”

“Because I already know you want to sleep with me.”

“I do not!”

“Your pride makes it difficult for you to admit it to me, I know.”

“You’re insane,” she spluttered.

“We’re both curious. We’re both horny as hell. So why not go ahead and do it?”

“Sex should mean more than that.”

“Sex
can
mean more than that. But it doesn’t have to. There’s plenty of joy to be had in the purely physical. Say the word, and we’ll do it.”

“I will
never
say it.”

His grin turning devilish.

“That sounds like another challenge.”

She showed her teeth in a wicked smile of superiority. “And we know how that turned out last time.”

“If memory serves, I did what I said I could do.”

“Yet you still lost,” Grace pointed out.

“I wouldn’t say that. But if it’s what you believe, then why not take me on again?”

She laughed at the absurdity of it. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot.”

He shook his head. “Come to my room tonight.”

“I won’t do that. It would be like a lamb walking to its own slaughter.

“Afraid you’ll give in?”

Yes! “No. Come to my room instead,” she said without thinking, “and I’ll prove you wrong.”

“You need the security of being on your own turf?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then come to my room, anytime after eleven.”

“I—” she started.

“I’ll be waiting for you.” He slid off the bench and sauntered back toward the house.

Grace snorted and put her hands on her hips.

“Anytime after eleven,” he called back. “I’ll be waiting.”

Cocky bastard. There was no way she was going to his room.

Was there?

“
Damn
,” she said under her breath. It was going to be a very long night.

CHAPTER

16

G
race came to the end of a Tchaikovsky barcarolle and checked the time: 10:55. She dug through the sheet music in the piano bench and found a familiar piece by Brahms. She sat again and started playing.

She wasn’t going to go to Declan’s room—crazy to even consider it!—but she couldn’t stop herself from checking the clock at the end of every piece of music. She hoped Declan could hear her playing; it was a clear message that she was having nothing to do with his little game.

Although he
had
cheered her up. She’d forgotten all about CRON meetings and clumsy kisses until nearly an hour later, when Sophia asked her how her outing had gone.

What could she say? It had gone well, as far as meeting her goals was concerned. And she had since persuaded herself that she couldn’t fault Andrew for being an inadequate lover, when she knew that she herself lacked skill in that area. She’d been known to unthinkingly crawl across a boyfriend’s groin before, placing her knee in exactly the wrong spot, and she’d been scolded for not showing more enthusiasm during lovemaking. She didn’t want to think of what a poor blow job she gave.

She shouldn’t expect more of Andrew than she was capable
of herself. She’d never seen any study to suggest that men automatically knew more than women about sex. To believe they did was to indulge in cultural stereotypes and double standards about male and female sexual behavior.

And yet . . .

Declan knew how to touch her. Declan wouldn’t hoist himself off her with a hand planted on her breast. He might even be able to wring from her those cries of ecstasy that so far remained unvoiced in her sexual life.

Then again, Declan was not a potential long-term partner, like Andrew. If only she could take the best of both of them, she’d have herself the perfect man.

She finished the Brahms: 11:10. Time for another rendition of “Makin’ Whoopee.” Ha!

She played the piano for another half hour, expecting at any moment that Declan would appear and make a taunting comment. She’d have a snappy comeback, they’d verbally joust a bit, then he’d end the debate by kissing her and dragging her under the piano for some violent lovemaking.

Eleven forty-five. No Declan.

Grace sighed and shut the piano, feeling bereft and vaguely frustrated. If he was waiting in his room, he’d probably fallen asleep by now. She was the only one suffering, and it was her own fault.

She’d go to her room and prepare for bed, and not let herself wonder if he would come to her. She trudged slowly up the marble stairs, then paused at the top and looked down the hallway to the wing where Declan slept. Dimmed sconces lit the way, creating an inviting path to sexual ruin. Her heart thumped at the thought of following that corridor and opening the door to his room. He’d be naked under a sheet, drowsy, but so happy to see her . . .

She hesitated, the desires of her body seducing her mind into thinking it would be okay, why not? You’ll enjoy it. It’s just bodies having fun with each other. Harmless and natural.

She forced herself to turn away and head to her room. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her appear at his door. With a sigh of self-congratulatory relief, she opened her door.

“Hello, Grace,” Declan said.

Grace squeaked in surprise. Declan was lying naked on her bed, his back propped up on pillows, the covers folded down to the foot as if to clear the way for serious mattress action. Several candelabrum were near the bed, casting a golden, adoring glow over Declan’s worthy body. Music played softly on the radio.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Grace demanded.

“Nothing, yet.” He grinned, his teeth Cheshire cat bright.

Grace hurriedly closed the door. “You’re supposed to be in your room.”

“My mistake,” he said cheerily.

“Your mistake, my ass.”

“I’ll trade you my mistake for your ass. It
is
what I came here for.”

She scowled. “That’s not funny.”

He patted the mattress beside him. “Take off your clothes and come get comfortable.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Only on the thought of what we’re going to do,” he said with a cheesy grin. “I’ve been thinking about it since this afternoon.”

“You go back to your room!”

Declan slid off the bed and walked slowly toward her, sending a wave of sensual panic up her body: she wanted him to stop but also wanted—desperately!—him to keep on coming and do with her what he would.

He stopped toe-to-toe with her and planted his palms on the door to either side of her head, trapping her. She looked into his eyes, her senses filled with his nearness, his warmth, his scent, and most of all the sheer mass of him, so much larger and stronger than herself. A primitive part of her soul silently moaned in pleasure.

Declan slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She watched, wide-eyed, as his face came closer and closer, her whole body tense and poised for flight or fight. His clean, faint masculine scent came off him with the heat of his body, the broadness of his chest and shoulders blocking out the rest of the world. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and tingling heat flying through her like a flock of startled sparrows.

Declan’s lips met hers, a gentle swoop of a kiss that brushed the surface of her lips and then floated free. She closed her eyes and he kissed her again, and she turned her head to follow his lips as they left her, as if begging him not to leave.

Declan’s lips landed a third time, and stayed. His lips moved on hers, nipping, pulling, sucking, sliding. Bit by bit he deepened the kiss, breaking down her sham of a resistance until she found herself kissing him back, her head straining forward for deeper, harder contact. She parted her lips and his tongue plunged inside, teasing hers with strokes of wet friction.

Her hands rose to Declan’s waist, then slid down to grasp his buttocks, pulling him toward her and feeling his hard erection against her.

Declan’s arms came down, wrapping around her and pulling her away from the wall. Breaking the kiss for only the necessary moment, Declan raised the hem of her knit shirt and jerked it off over her head. In another moment he’d undone her bra and tossed it aside. Grace felt a moment’s alarm, but then his mouth was on
hers again, his arms around her, pulling her torso against his. She was lost in her physical reaction to him, her brain shut off.

She didn’t even know he was unzipping her skirt until it fell at her feet, leaving her clad only in her underpants. He maneuvered her slowly toward the bed until they bumped up against it. The mattress touching her warned Grace of what would come next, and a sliver of pride stabbed through her sensual bliss. She wouldn’t let herself be had so easily.

She broke the kiss, pressing her palms against his chest to create some separation. She met his eyes. “I don’t want this.”

His gaze was fierce with sexual tension. “Won’t you say it now?”

This was Declan, not some fantasy male who existed only in her imagination, and she would have to see him in the morning. She shook her head.

“Why won’t you admit it?”

“Because I’m stronger than you, and I want you to know it. If I ask you to sleep with me, then you win.”

His jaw tightened, but her words seemed only to stoke the fire in his eyes. “You
will
ask me. You’ll demand it.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

She nodded slowly, a delicious frisson running through her body. She knew the challenge she was throwing before him, and how hard it would drive him to seduce her. She
wanted
him to win but didn’t believe he could. He’d have to overcome every ounce of her self-consciousness, and that was more than any man could ever do.

Declan turned her around and held her in an embrace, her back to his chest. His lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Do you want to prove I’m wrong?” His hand slid slowly down her belly and into her panties.

Grace closed her eyes and leaned back against him, her knees going weak. “I can prove it,” she answered.

He tugged her underpants down until they fell free, the silky fabric pooling on her feet.

Declan’s hands rose up her body to cup her breasts, as his lips found the tender spot at the base of her neck and kissed and teased, his tongue and teeth nipping and rubbing, sending shivers of electric delight over her skin.

He put one knee on the bed to ease her onto it with him, turning her and pressing her back until she lay face-up beneath him. He slid his hands down her arms to her wrists, then raised them above her head, pinning them to the mattress as he kissed her again.

He broke the kiss and raised his head, grinning wickedly at her.

She wondered why until he released her wrists and she became aware of what he’d done.

She was tied to the bed. She craned her neck, trying to see above her head. “Declan, what—”

“I can’t have you touching yourself this time. The only relief you’ll get is from me, when you beg for it.”

“You planned this!” she protested. By craning her head she could just see the padded handcuffs and the tether to which they were affixed. It had all been hidden under the pillows.

“I warned you I’d been thinking about this all day.”

She tugged against the restraints, but they held firm. A shiver went over her, of fear or excitement she wasn’t sure. No one had ever tied her up before. “You’re scaring me,” she said, not sure if it was true.

He stroked the hair back from her face and looked into her eyes. “I won’t hurt you or go against your wishes. You know that.”

She did know that, for
almost
certain. Truth was, though, she
didn’t really know
what
he was capable of, did she? She hadn’t predicted he would tie her up.

“I won’t hurt you, but I’ll torment you.” He smiled, slow and lazy, and traced his fingertips over one breast, circling in on her nipple and gently squeezing it like a ripe berry. “Just remember that it’s always in your power to put an end to your suffering. You only need a single word.”

“What word?”

“Yes.”

A rush of panic and desire went through her.