by Joanna Shupe
Why did that thought unsettle her?
It shouldn’t. You are betrothed.
The best outcome was for Harrison to marry one of her friends and return to Paris, away from Maddie. Then they could both get on with their lives and forget this momentary bit of madness. Surely it was the reminders of their past, the sound of the sea and the salty air, causing them to descend into this strange nostalgia for each other.
This is not nostalgia. You are attracted to him.
She was really coming to hate that internal voice of hers.
How had their relationship changed so dramatically? Before he went to Paris, he’d been a confidant and playmate, nothing more than a friend. Now a slightly older Harrison had returned, and her obsession switched from tennis to him. Never had she been attracted to a man like this, where thoughts of him instantly jumped to licking and biting, exploring and kissing . . .
Stop.
She gave herself a mental shake. This could not go on. Another day of this house party, then Harrison would have his fiancée and Maddie would focus on tennis and the duke.
There was no other choice.
The east side of the house was quiet as she slipped through a side door and into the morning room. Giant fans slowly turned overhead, creating a glorious breeze that countered the June midday heat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop here.
The point of the game was to find a small spot into which a group must squeeze itself, just like sardines in a tin. The first two floors of the chateau comprised large, open rooms, impractical for her purposes. There were closets and washrooms, but those were too obvious. The third floor contained staff quarters, and she would not dare to disrupt their private space with houseguests tramping through.
That left the basement, which contained the perfect hiding space: a small changing room tucked away beside the indoor pool. Three or four adults could fit inside comfortably, but seven or eight would be a tight squeeze. She had briefly pointed the room out to her friends during her tour on the first day of the house party. Time would tell if any of them remembered.
If no one found her in an hour, she’d come out and restart the game.
As she went to the stairs, she happened to pass the library. Quickly, she snatched a thick book off the shelf, not bothering to check the title. There was no time for dawdling. Hurrying on, she went downstairs.
The pool room was humid, due in part to the underground heating system used to warm the water. The surface of the pool was like glass, undisturbed and completely still in the silence. Careful not to slip on the tiles, she walked around to the changing room. There was a moment of indecision as to whether to close the door behind her, and she decided to leave it cracked. The space would overheat without any air wafting in, and she could use the light coming in from the pool room by which to read.
Low wooden benches lined the walls of the tiny changing room. She sat and peered at the spine of the book in her hand. Disappointment weighed down her shoulders. Soil Quality of the Western Plains. This was one of her father’s research books for railroad expansion. She tossed it aside. Not even utter boredom could get her interested in that subject matter.
Minutes later, a faint scuffle caught her attention. She held her breath and waited, listening. Impossible. A guest could not have found her this soon.
Another noise, closer this time. Holding perfectly still, she kept her eyes locked on the sliver of light at the door’s opening. Seconds ticked by, and she began to wonder if the noises had been her imagination.
Then a large shadow cast the changing room into darkness and she tried not to gasp.
Harrison.
He slipped into the room, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I knew it.”
“You lied. You said you forgot all the hiding places.”
Not answering, he came in and closed the door. Darkness enveloped them both. Though she couldn’t see him, she heard his clothes rustle as he settled on her left side. There was barely an inch of space between them, his body too close, too imposing. Too tempting.
Her heart kicked hard in her chest, anticipation buzzing in her veins like electricity. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Harrison.” She tried to put a healthy amount of extreme displeasure in her tone. “We should not be alone in here.”
“I can’t help it if I let it slip to a few of the ladies how you used to hide in the carriage house as a young girl.”
“Which is a lie. You used to hide in the carriage house. I used to hide in here.”
She couldn’t see his face but she could hear the smile in his voice. “I know. Remember the time we stole a cake from your mother’s garden party? We nearly ate ourselves sick in here.”
Yes, she remembered. She remembered nearly all of their adventures. “We should open the door.”
“Why?”
He was deliberately being obtuse. Could he not feel the heat jumping between them? “You know why.”
“Is this about not trusting yourself with me again?”
Dashed man. Stood to reason he would bring up her words from the gazebo. She ducked her head, shame scalding her from the inside out. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I like when you are honest with me.”
“If only you could do the same.”
A rough finger brushed the top of her hand, stroking each of her knuckles, one by one. Sparks shot along her skin, an effervescence skipping along every nerve in her body, making her feel both light and heavy at the same time. Though she couldn’t see him, he was all around her, the scent of him—the outdoors and a faint hint of cigar—surrounding her. The sound of his steady breathing echoed in the small space. By the time he reached her pinky, she had nearly melted on the bench.
He linked their fingers together. “I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know,” he said, his voice like silk.
There was really only one question to ask. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
The single word fell between them like a perfectly placed drop shot over the net. She had no way of catching it, no hope of returning it. Worse, there was no avoiding the consequences. “I cannot break the betrothal.”
“Others have done so and survived. You can, too.”
“This is madness. You ask the impossible.”
His hand held steady, their two fingers intertwined, anchoring her. She wasn’t ready to pull away.
The air grew heavier as her lungs worked, her breath coming fast and shallow. They’d spent so much time alone together over the years, but this was different. Even their interactions on the terrace and in the gazebo hadn’t felt like this, like he was air and water, food and shelter. Absolutely essential, as if they were tethered to each other in some elemental way.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said.
Though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head, not ready to share the emotions roiling inside her just yet. “You are supposed to marry one of the ladies here.”
“I don’t want one of those ladies. I want you.”
Her lower body clenched at the declaration, arousal pulsing between her legs in time with her heartbeat. I shouldn’t, but I want him, too.
She dragged in a deep breath and attempted to remain logical. “You had years to declare an intention. Never once have you hinted at more between us until now, when it is too late.”
“If I ask you a question, do you promise to answer it honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Forget your betrothal. Do you want to kiss me right now?”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because your answer is all that matters.”
“Hardly. There are other people to consider, as well.”
“No one else is here. It’s just the two of us at the moment. So tell me. Do you want to kiss me?”
“You ask the impossible.”
“That is not an answer, Mads.”
&
nbsp; The truth lodged in her throat, the words unable to break free. Saying them would change everything, create a scandal and harm those she cared about. How could she act so selfishly?
He must have sensed her hesitation because she heard him shift a brief instant before a large hand settled on her thigh. The heat of his skin scorched her through the layers of cloth between them. It was far more intimate than any other touch they had shared, and the air turned thick, charged with a portentous energy, like right before a thunderstorm rolled in.
The moment stretched, each second crawling by as every nerve in her body concentrated on his hand. Strong fingers moved ever so slightly, testing, teasing. Caressing. Maddie’s own fingers curled into her palms and she trembled, goose bumps racing all along her arms. She wanted to lean into him and beg for more. The idea was madness, but her rational half had clearly fallen back to allow her emotional side to take charge.
“Shall I remove my hand?”
She should have answered affirmatively. The touch was personal and possessive . . . in a place only a husband should access. And yet . . .
“No,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened as if he’d expected a different answer. Without missing a beat, his other hand found her jaw and cupped her face, the touch confident and calming. She grew light-headed, the floor shifting below her while the world fell away, but he held her tethered, safe in a familiar, yet totally unexpected, way. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, the tips pressing into his flesh, and she held very still, unwilling to break the moment by breathing or talking.
His forehead met her temple, his humid breath gusting over her cheek as he whispered, “Do you want to kiss me?”
Unable to stop herself, she nodded . . . and he sucked in air, a gasp of surprise that she felt all the way to her toes.
Just then, the door swung open, casting light into the room and blinding her. She instantly jumped apart from Harrison and shielded her eyes.
“Aha! We found her!”
Chapter Twelve
The ladies trickled into the changing room over the next thirty minutes. The air in the tiny room soon grew stifling from the outside heat and number of bodies. By Harrison’s count, they had two more guests to go before a loser was declared and they could return upstairs. Nellie Young and Alice Lusk were still searching the chateau grounds for Maddie’s hiding place.
During the wait, he was polite, responding when prompted, but his focus remained fixated on the woman next to him in the dark, her sweet curves pressed tight to his right side.
Maddie wanted him.
Victory had streaked through him at her admission, making him dizzy. His body responded swiftly, his cock thickening in his trousers and hunger slithering through his veins. He suspected they would have kissed, if not for the inopportune intrusion.
Soon.
On his other side was Lydia Hartwell, a young woman who spoke her mind, unafraid of expressing her opinions. Much like Maddie, which probably explained why the two were friends. Also, Miss Hartwell was unapologetically interested in unconventional pursuits, similar to Maddie’s love of tennis.
“I cannot believe you’ve never hunted,” Miss Hartwell was saying.
Killing other creatures had never been high on Harrison’s list of relaxing endeavors. Bordellos, salons and cafes were his preferred methods to unwind, at least in the last few years. “I am a city boy, through and through, I suppose. We went to the Adirondacks and Newport, but that was mostly about swimming and sailing.”
He felt Maddie move closer. “Harrison doesn’t even enjoy fishing,” she chimed in. “He insists on throwing his catch back in the water.”
“So do you,” he pointed out.
“Goodness,” Miss Hartwell said. “You are both hopeless. Come to Montana and we’ll go fly fishing. Then we’ll cook what we catch on an open fire.”
That sounded like a punishment, not a vacation. Nevertheless, he said politely, “Thank you. Perhaps one day—”
A gentle brush on his right knee caught him by surprise. He froze, his words dying in his throat as every muscle in his body went on alert.
The fingertips returned, bolder this time as they deliberately slid over his leg. Someone was touching him, groping him, with light fingers. He blinked in the darkness, uncertain what to do. Who would dare? Was Maddie responsible?
The women around him talked as if nothing was amiss. Yet someone was dragging her fingers along his leg, feeling his thigh through his trousers. Maddie must have been responsible. She was the closest, other than Miss Hartwell, who did not seem the type to act so boldly with a stranger. Not to mention it would require her to reach over him, which was not as easily done.
Then, just for an instant, the hard edge of a metal prong, like the ones on a large stone setting, brushed his leg.
The ducal betrothal ring.
Those fingers belonged to Maddie. He was absolutely certain of it.
A light sweat broke out on his skin, heat rushing through his entire body as her exploration continued. He allowed it, reveling in the knowledge that she wished to caress him. Hell, he’d encourage her. In fact, she could keep going until she reached his cock, which was growing stiff and eager for the attention.
“Is something wrong?” Maddie whispered.
“Not a dashed thing,” he said quietly. “Keep going.”
The touch was delicate but it seemed as if every nerve in his body was centered in that one place. His chest heaved, nostrils flaring as he pulled in air, the rest of him perfectly still while the fingers lingered and bedeviled him. Teased and tested the shape of his thigh.
“You are worrying me,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
How could she not know?
Leaning over, he put his lips near the shell of her ear. “Higher.”
The fingers skimmed upward, onto his inner thigh.
Fuck.
His head dropped back, thumping against the wall, and he struggled not to move, not to roll his hips or push into that seeking hand. His skin crawled with anticipation, turning both hot and cold at the same time, desire burning him alive. Was she enjoying this, too? Because he might actually break down and cry if she pulled her hand away.
Miss Hartwell began speaking to him again, asking about his time in Paris. Had he been to the restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower? Had he met many artists and writers? What was the Folies-Bergère like? Harrison answered as best he could, each sentence a trek through quicksand. Mostly he grunted one- or two-word responses, praying that was enough to avoid drawing any attention to his lower half.
Higher and higher went the swirling, tempting fingertips, doing everything possible to drive him out of his mind. A tempest raged inside him, this burning need for Maddie that he’d tried to control for years, and with her fingers creeping ever so closer to his groin, he feared he might lose his grip on his restraint. Would she stop? Or would she stroke him, feel the hard ridges of his cock and soft weight of his balls through his clothing?
He groaned and tried to cover it with a cough.
“What is going on?” Maddie hissed.
He hadn’t known her to be a clever liar, but those questioning fingers had to belong to her. He felt it deep in his bones. There was no other plausible explanation. If he believed another guest was responsible, he would have put a stop to it from the start.
No, this was most assuredly Maddie, and he craved her caresses like his next breath.
The lack of stimulating conversation must have frustrated Miss Hartwell because she turned to the young woman on her other side and struck up a chat. The fingers on his thigh stilled, unsure, and he waited, blood rushing in his ears, while time slowed to a halt.
Her lips hovered near the shell of his right ear. “Shall I remove my hand?”
Fuck. His words from earlier.
He angled toward her, close enough so that only Maddie could hear. “Don’t you dare.”
The touch grew bolder, a voyage of discovery. Attention was p
aid to the crease of his thigh, the fingers ever so lightly smoothing the cloth there. He gripped the edge of the bench, and his nails dug into the wood like a man hanging on to his sanity. God, yes. Keep going. Just a bit to the left.
Then she danced away, moving closer to his knee again, and he slumped in the seat, disappointed. He couldn’t help but offer instruction. “Wrong direction,” he crooned in her ear. “Tease me, Mads.”
Her fingers flattened along his thigh and slid upward, lighter than he preferred but somehow perfect because it was Maddie. His balls ached and his groin was heavy with need, every cell in his body straining to remain still and quiet. Would she stroke his cock? If she did, he might spend in his trousers.
The door flew open, startling everyone, and Harrison blinked into the light. The hand had already disappeared from his thigh by the time he saw Kit in the entryway.
“There’s been a slight mishap,” Kit announced. “Miss Lusk has turned her ankle, so we’re calling an end to the game.”
The ladies each expressed their sympathy for Miss Lusk, talking among themselves as they filed out the door. Harrison remained seated, rude as it was, in an effort to hide the erection in his trousers. When Maddie rose and started to follow everyone to the exit, he clasped her wrist, stopping her.
She cast a frown down at him. Her skin was flushed, but he wasn’t sure if it was from touching him or the heat inside the room. She said, “I must go and check on Alice.”
Was she serious?
“Wait a moment.” The last of the guests departed and the two of them were alone. “What about just now?”
She huffed in annoyance, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “Harrison, I don’t have time for this.”
Fair enough. He would rather have her alone for this discussion, anyway. “Meet me in the gazebo at half past midnight.”
She started to open her mouth—to protest, no doubt—so he held up a hand and came to his feet. “Tonight, Maddie. Be there.” He moved closer and dipped his head. “Or else I’ll come find you.”