by Joanna Shupe
“Oh, I suppose we should wash that.” She tried to take it from him . . . but he didn’t let go.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “We’ll use this for our lesson. I want to demonstrate that anything can be used to flirt. Even food.”
Was he serious? “How on earth can one use food to flirt?”
“Think about it. You use your mouth to eat food, and anything that calls attention to a woman’s mouth has the potential to drive men wild.”
She considered this. “Because it brings to mind kissing?”
“And other things,” he said cryptically.
“What other things?”
“Things your husband will show you. Now, watch me.” He dipped a finger into the syrup and brought it to his lips, where he licked the liquid off before slipping his finger into his mouth. Lids falling closed, he gave a tiny moan.
Good God.
While only a performance on Kit’s part, the move caused a riot inside her, waves of wanting that had her gripping the workbench to keep from crumbling. His masculine appeal was almost painful, almost overwhelming in its intensity, with a face she could stare at for hours. From the full lips and cleft in his chin, to the sharp jaw and angular cheekbones, Kit was a superior specimen of manhood.
Finally, he dropped his hand, his gaze clearing as if he hadn’t just sent the temperature in the room soaring. “Now, you.”
Put the syrup on her finger like he had? No, no, no. She couldn’t possibly do that. Her attempt would appear ridiculous compared to Kit’s debauched version. “Oh, no. I would look foolish.”
“No, you won’t. Besides, it’s just me, and I am the perfect man with whom to practice.”
Because we have no future together.
Because we won’t see each other again after this house party ends.
Indeed, how could she have forgotten?
“Please, Alice,” he whispered, his voice as seductive as fine wine. “I want to see it.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, she dipped her finger into the syrup and put it to her lips. Then she remembered his advice on eye contact, so she locked gazes with him before sliding her index finger into her mouth, slowly. Carefully, as if she had all the time in the world. He fixated on her lips, and his mouth parted slightly on a small gust of air.
Emboldened by his tiny but immediate reaction, she slid her finger deeper, rubbing it against her tongue, then withdrew slightly before returning. In and out. Then again. She sawed her finger past her lips while groaning as if enjoying the taste. Kit’s pupils were wide, his skin flushed as he observed quietly, intently, his chest expanding and contracting.
After one final flick of her tongue she took her finger out of her mouth, and Kit swallowed loudly. They didn’t move or speak, the moment stretching in tense silence, and goose bumps raced along her arms, across the back of her neck. The air thickened and each lungful felt like a chore, a struggle, as if the room was filled with smoke. A craving was building deep inside her, growing and twisting, urging her closer to him. Even if her mind would never allow her to admit it, her body desired this man.
And based on the way he was looking at her—like a slice of Baked Alaska—he might desire her, as well.
Could it be true?
I want to kiss him again.
“Kit . . .” she whispered, her voice trailing as her body swayed in his direction. How did one ask such a gorgeous man to kiss her, to ravage her? To ease this terrible craving?
Without warning, he took a step back. His mouth curved into a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well done. Fair to say you’ve mastered that.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the doorway. “I’m supposed to meet Harrison, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Their lesson was over? Her shoulders deflated ever so slightly. “Oh. Then I’ll bid you good night.”
He dipped his chin and quickly strode from the room.
Almost as if he was running away from her.
Once out of the kitchen, Kit hurried through the corridors as if the fires of Hell were nipping at his heels.
He didn’t bother going up the stairs. Instead, he went straight outside, desperate for air. For space. For distance. From Alice, from the other guests. From himself, even.
Perhaps a dip in the cold Atlantic was exactly what he needed.
“And where are you going in such a hurry?”
Kit came to an abrupt halt and found the source of the familiar deep voice on the terrace above him. Harrison was leaning over the balustrade, a lit cigar in his fingers. Kit dragged a hand through his hair. “I feel as if I am losing my fucking mind.”
“Yes, I am having a similar night. Drink?” Harrison held up a half-empty bottle.
“God, yes.” Taking the steps two at a time, Kit soon found himself on the terrace. “Give me whatever is in there.”
Harrison passed over the bottle and Kit took a long swig of what ended up to be scotch. The burn in his throat distracted him from the partial erection he was sporting after watching Alice suck on her finger.
Christ almighty.
That mental image would fuel his masturbatory fantasies for months to come.
And she had worried she would look foolish? Hardly. Instead, she’d looked innocent while acting naughty—a combination he suddenly found incredibly arousing. Who would have guessed?
After another long drink, he tried to give the bottle back to his friend, who was now watching him with a thoughtful expression. Harrison held up his hand. “Keep it for a few minutes. You look as if you could use it.”
“Thank you.”
“Besides, I’ve already drunk half.” Harrison puffed on his cigar. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” Another drink. “You?”
“No. I haven’t had enough scotch. Damn, I wish Preston and Forrest were here. I missed you all while I was in Paris.”
“Preston said he would try, but he must have been tied up in the city. And no one’s heard from Forrest for weeks.” Forrest had been drowning himself in liquor for years and Kit wasn’t certain what to do about it any longer. Every attempt to help his friend had failed. He’d deal with it after the house party—if he survived Alice and her lessons, of course.
For a boy who deserved better.
After another sip, Kit dangled the bottle from his fingers. “Is it a terrible idea to contemplate seducing one of the heiresses?”
“Jesus, Kit. You know the answer to that question.”
“I do. The trouble is, I think she’s seducing me.”
“Which young lady are we discussing?”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“I won’t say anything. God knows you’ve stored many a secret of mine over the years.”
Kit gulped a mouthful of scotch for courage. “Alice Lusk.”
Harrison shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “You must be joking. That quiet girl with the terrible mother?”
“Yes. She’s . . . surprising.”
His friend let out a low whistle. “High praise coming from the man who has seen and done just about everything—and everyone.”
“Har. I’m serious. This girl has turned me inside out in a matter of days.”
“Wait, what do you mean? Were you just with her?” Dawning realization washed over his expression. “This is who gave you the love bite. Well, good for Alice. I never would’ve guessed.”
“It’s not like that. I’m . . . tutoring her in exchange for recipes. For the supper club.”
“Tutoring her? In what, how to give love bites?”
Kit didn’t answer. He merely drank and let Harrison’s joke fall flat. When his friend realized it was the truth, he gaped at Kit. “Are you serious? She actually approached and asked you to teach her how to kiss?”
“Not in so many words.” He gave a shortened version of the lessons-for-recipes bargain he struck with Alice. “She wants to marry for love and is convinced no man will ever want her except for her dowry.”
“This
is like some erotic fairy tale young men share around the campfire. And it’s actually happened to you.” Harrison’s mouth twisted. “You are absolutely fizzing, my friend.”
“Stop. It was supposed to be innocent, not sordid. Flirting and advice on men. It wasn’t supposed to turn physical.”
“Yet it obviously did.”
“I didn’t pressure her, if that is what you’re worried about. All of it has been her choice.”
“Still, you must know this is unwise. If you’re caught you’ll have to marry her, Kit.”
“We won’t be caught. Sneaking around and secret indiscretions are second nature to me.”
“So, what is the problem?”
Kit downed more scotch and contemplated his answer. “I don’t know. I’m not used to wanting someone I cannot have, I suppose.”
Harrison snorted. “We can form some sort of club, then. Shall I come up with the secret handshake?”
“Shit, sorry.” Harrison had been pining for Maddie forever, and now she was betrothed to another man. “Is that why you’re out here?”
“Maddie disappeared after dinner to meet with her father and Lockwood.”
“Ah. Discussing details of the wedding, perhaps?”
“Doubtful. No, that goddamn duke is up to something. I need to find out what.”
Kit leaned over the railing and closed his eyes against the ocean breeze. “He’s worried. I think that is why he proposed now, instead of waiting until the guests departed.”
“Hmm.” Harrison matched Kit’s posture. “You might be right.”
“It’ll resolve itself. Maddie’s in love with you. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.”
“Yes, well. Her admission won’t mean anything when she’s walking down the aisle to marry another man.”
“So you think she needs a nudge?”
“Perhaps. What will you do about Alice?”
“Nothing.” Kit dragged a hand across his nape. “I only have to last two more days. Then we’ll return to the city and I won’t see her again.”
“She really has you tied up in knots, doesn’t she?”
An understatement. He’d nearly pounced on her in the kitchen a little bit ago. Considered putting her up on the worktable and lifting her skirts, where he could hear her whimpers and taste her moans while he brought her to orgasm once or twice. “It’s fine. I can control myself for two more days.”
“There are simple solutions,” Harrison offered. “You could tell her you have enough recipes. Or you could visit one of the houses in—”
“No,” Kit said, his tone sharp.
Harrison chuckled. “All right.”
“Do not infer anything from that answer. I want as many of Franconi’s recipes as I can get.”
“Oh, indeed,” Harrison drawled. “The recipes.”
“Fuck you.”
Harrison threw his head back and laughed. “This is refreshing. I like having a partner in misery.”
“Enjoy it, then, because my misery will only last for the next two days. And I really do need those recipes.”
They stood in companionable silence for several minutes while the waves crashed below in the darkness. The wind continued, a steady and bracing sting on Kit’s skin. He wondered if Alice had gone to her room, if she had undressed for bed. He pictured a prim white nightgown that covered her from head to toe, her luscious little body hidden from prying eyes, even at night. Would she crawl under the covers, lift that nightgown and touch herself? Slide the pads of her fingers over her clitoris—
Damn it. He gritted his teeth against the wave of lust cramping in his belly. He couldn’t think about Alice pleasuring herself now. Or ever.
“I can hear your mind spinning,” Harrison said, blowing out smoke. “So, what are you going to do about her?”
“Keep it platonic. Just talking and no more . . . other things.”
“Good luck,” Harrison said, his tone full of skepticism. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. I should know, considering I’ve been resisting the impulse for other things for years.”
“I can do it. I resisted punching my father in the face my entire life. I can remain strictly friends with an innocent shipping heiress from Boston.”
Harrison made a scoffing sound in his throat. “You act as if you’re thinking with your brain in these moments. I predict you won’t even last a day.”
“Wrong.” Kit took another drink. “I can do it. It’s just two days.” If he kept repeating his positive affirmation, he would succeed.
Hopefully.
Chapter Nine
Alice paced in Kit’s bedroom. It was late but he still wasn’t here. He had to seek his bed soon, didn’t he?
Perhaps she should return to her own chambers. It was wildly inappropriate for her to be here at this late hour, and she would be ruined if discovered. Yet, he’d fled the kitchen earlier in a state of panic. She didn’t understand it. Had she done something wrong?
The clock on the mantel chimed two, which meant she had been here for over an hour. The recipe she’d written, along with a slice of the cinnamon babka, sat on his nightstand. There was no reason for her to wait.
Except this tiny feeling in the pit of her stomach, one that hadn’t abated ever since he left the kitchen.
I merely want to ensure he’s all right, that we’re all right.
Besides, she owed him the recipe, Franconi’s ducklings à la bigarade. And he sort of helped with the babka, so it seemed only fair to bring him the first slice.
Lies. You wanted to see him. You wanted more of what happened in the kitchen.
Fine, yes. Maybe that, too.
Regardless, she could not wait until the morning—or the afternoon—to find out why he’d departed so abruptly. They might not be friends, but they were friendly—and wouldn’t anyone check on the welfare of another in such a circumstance?
Just a few days remained in Newport. She certainly felt more confident with Kit, but would that confidence translate to a potential suitor? Alice wasn’t certain. Better to keep up these lessons with Kit before she returned to New York. To Mama’s watchful gaze.
To finding a husband.
Sighing, she pushed that worry off for another day. The house party afforded too many opportunities to waste with future worries.
The one small table in his room was littered with papers. She didn’t wish to pry, but they appeared to be tallies and estimates of some kind. For his supper club? A pair of eyeglasses rested near a pencil and she smiled as tenderness expanded in her chest. She could picture him here, working hard on his ideas.
The latch clicked and she spun toward the door. Fear gripped her for a brief second when she considered it might be Kit’s valet, but that disappeared when Kit stumbled into the room. He nearly tripped over his feet, his body loose and uncoordinated, while his black evening jacket dangled from his fingertips. “Fucking hell,” he whispered as he struggled for balance.
He hadn’t seen her yet, so she took a step forward. “Do you need help?”
Sucking in a harsh breath, his head snapped up. “Alice.” He took two steps toward her. “You—Is that indeed you?”
“It is indeed me.”
The door stood open and he seemed in no hurry to close it. Alice walked toward him, intent on shutting it, and was surprised when he quickly staggered away from her in the opposite direction. She closed them in and chewed on her lip. So, it was her. Clearly, she had done something to upset him. “Kit, is there something wrong?”
He threw his jacket onto a chair, then swept his hand out like an Elizabethan courtier. “I’m drunk.”
“I can see that. I meant—”
“What is that?” He strode unevenly to the nightstand. “Is that the bread you were making? Goddamn, that looks fucking delicious.” Picking it up, he lifted the slice of babka to his mouth.
“Yes, I thought you should have the first piece, since you helped me—good Lord. Did you just put that entire thing in your mouth?”
&
nbsp; Cheeks bulging, he chewed and let out a groan. “Mmm. Delicious,” he managed to garble. After he swallowed, he said, “You are an amazing cook, Alice.”
Perhaps, but she wasn’t supposed to be.
Ladies don’t sweat in a kitchen. Ladies sip tea and let others sweat in a kitchen.
She could almost hear her mother’s voice. Mama had forbade Alice’s culinary pursuits eons ago. That didn’t mean Alice didn’t still sneak into the kitchen every chance she got, though. When she married and had her own household, Alice would cook and bake as much as she pleased.
Another reason why she needed Kit’s lessons. The sooner she found a husband, the sooner she could have said kitchen.
Kit unbuttoned his vest, pushed it off his shoulders and let the silk fall to the floor. Then he removed his bow tie and collar. Alice was too fascinated to complain. Was he planning on disrobing right in front of her?
You should say something. You are taking advantage of his inebriation.
“Kit, perhaps—”
“Help me with these damn cuff links, will you?” He held out his wrists.
“I should go and let you rest,” she said, though her feet didn’t move.
He began struggling with the silver at his wrist. “You’re a good person, Alice. Do you know that?”
She couldn’t stave off the small grin. Drunk Kit was adorable. “As are you.”
“No.” He shook his head, his tousled hair going in all directions. “I am most definitely not.” One cuff link hit the carpet and he began working on the other.
Taking pity, she went to assist him. “Here. Give me your hand.”
His mouth hitched as he presented his wrist. “See? Good person. Even though I am thinking very dangerous things about you, here you are, trying to help me.”
“Dangerous things?” Picking up the discarded cuff link, she set both on the dresser. “What does that mean? Are you upset about what happened in the kitchen?”