Undercover Sir

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Having confessed that he had feelings for her, Douglas looked chagrinned—and hesitant, for the first time since she'd met him "I-I didn't necessarily mean to say it that way, but I won't take it back. I've never believed in love at first sight, but meeting you is rapidly making me a convert."

  Ia gasped at that. She couldn't believe the things he was saying! So much for Brits being reserved!

  "And I can see that I've said too much on several fronts this evening, but I won't say I'm sorry to have done so in any case, either. I know we haven't known each other for very long at all, but I do feel a very powerful attraction to you, although it's much more than that. I feel a connection to you that I've never felt with any other woman, so much so that it's going to make it very hard for me to leave at the end of next week."

  Ia found her chin caught as he turned her head toward him very gently. "Shall I dare to hope that you might feel something similar toward me, Miss Ia?"

  There was that enticing blush of hers again, and she tried to put her head down again, but he wouldn't allow it.

  The silence stretched between them, because Ia could not think of what to say to him. Her emotions were all in a jumble, especially since he was touching her. That seemed to be a catalyst for her to lose control of her mind and her body at the same time, so she was left bereft of the ability to form a coherent sentence for the life of her.

  "Too shy to say?" he murmured understandingly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure that we have plenty of time to talk." As he spoke, Douglas moved toward her, as if he was going to steal a kiss, his intent plain.

  But Ia suddenly wrenched herself away from him. "No! I don't want to kiss you!"

  Douglas felt his heart sink to hear that from her. He was stunned, leaning back in his chair and staring at his plate for a moment.

  "I'm sorry. Apparently, I was acting under a false assumption. Please accept my apologies." He forced a smile on his face, tone upbeat when his heart was dying inside his chest. "How was your dinner? You didn't eat much of it."

  "Douglas." Her hand covered his, the way his had covered hers earlier without her ever thinking about the gesture, but only about the desperate need to comfort him. It was the first time she'd touched him voluntarily, and—although he very much wanted to—he didn't glom onto her. Instead, he let his thumb barely brush over her knuckles.

  "Yes, beautiful?"

  She ignored the endearment, since she knew it was wholly inaccurate when applied to her. "I think…I think I gave you the wrong impression when I said I didn't want to kiss you."

  The stark pressure in his chest eased up just a bit at that, although he tried not to get too excited. "Oh?"

  Her face was red and hot, but she ignored it and was honest. "I said that because I," she hesitated on a sigh, leaning away from him and twisting her napkin in her lap again, as if she was strangling it, "the truth is that I didn't want my first kiss to be in a restaurant." She spat it out as fast as she could, in as low a tone as she was capable of, without looking at him.

  Douglas suppressed a gasp at the highly important bit of information she'd revealed about herself, and he intuited that she was very embarrassed about it, so he didn't press her for more details.

  Instead, he reached over and pried her hand away from the napkin, holding it in his and resting them both on top of his thigh.

  "Well, I am glad to hear that, Ia Very glad." He fiddled with his silverware with his other hand, trying to deal with the aching flood of relief that assailed him, saying, "But you didn't answer my question. How was your dinner?"

  Glad for the more casual conversation, she replied, "It was good."

  "And yet you've barely touched it, lovely. Why is that?"

  "Nerves, I guess," she admitted.

  "Oh dear, I'm sorry. You mean you've been tense and nervous with me all night?"

  "Most of it, yes. We've been discussing some pretty deep subjects."

  She felt him squeeze her hand. "Yes, we have, haven't we?" Then he moved his own plate and put hers in front of him, cutting the remaining portions of the steak, potato, and the untouched asparagus in half, putting the excess on his empty plate, then handing hers back.

  "I want you to eat what I've given you, please," he asked pleasantly, "I can't have you going home with me to rummage in the kitchen when you're hungry an hour later. Daniel will think I didn't feed you." He grinned.

  "I can't eat all of this!" she complained softly, although she had her silverware in hand and was cutting the steak into smaller pieces.

  Douglas, who had turned himself in his chair so that he was facing her, legs over the side of the chair rather than the front, put his elbow on the table and his other hand on the back of her chair—but carefully not touching her anywhere.

  When he spoke, his tone insinuated itself into her ear as if his mouth was on or very near it, making shivers run up her spine, nipples immediately straining against her bra, and creating some kind of strange awareness of that area down there that she couldn't fathom and didn't know what to do with. "Ia, with the things I have revealed to you this evening about myself and how I subscribe to Daniel's philosophy in regards to sisters and the need to actively guide them and occasionally correct them when they've strayed from the right path, I want you to consider very carefully whether you think it would be a good thing to disobey me in this."

  In anything, he thought but didn't add out loud.

  Her eyes darted to his for the smallest of seconds. He surprised her by being warm and caring, but there was a steely resolve in them—in all of him, his posture and his manner—that made her not want to test him. She didn't know what Daniel would do if Douglas took it upon himself to spank her, but somehow, she had a feeling that he was not likely to side with her in that situation.

  So, she ate, while Douglas had a second drink and again regaled her with tales of his childhood—and his sister's. His face lit up in the most startling of ways—making him even better looking—when he spoke about her. With every gesture, every expression, every word, it was plain to her—and would be to anyone who bothered to look at him or listen to him—that he utterly adored her, although from his stories, she also got the impression that he was quite strict with her, too.

  Ia ate the steak and potato and was resolved to choke down the asparagus when she brought a taste—dripping with Hollandaise—to her mouth and found it to be incredibly good.

  So instead of loathing every mouthful, she thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Someone tried to steal a piece from her plate, and he nearly got forked for it.

  "You are vicious!" he said with a grin as he counted all his fingers in an exaggerated fashion.

  She had to giggle at that. "Are you sure this is asparagus? I've never had it this way, and it's excellent!"

  "I think so; I'm glad you enjoyed it."

  Ia arranged her silverware across her plate, then she put her napkin on top of it, and the waiter appeared to whisk it away as if by magic.

  "It was an excellent meal, and I enjoyed it enormously. Thank you for bringing me here."

  "You're very welcome, Ia."

  She patted her stomach. "That's more food than I've eaten in a while."

  Douglas frowned. "It shouldn't be. I'm surprised Daniel isn't keeping better track of what you eat."

  "Thankfully."

  He did not look as if he agreed with that thought in the least. "That is definitely something that needs to be addressed," he mused as he put a large pile of bills on the table before rising and putting his hand out to her while wearing a small smile that almost challenged her to object.

  But she didn't.

  When they were back in the car, he headed out in a direction that she knew wasn't toward home.

  "Where to now?"

  "Oh, some place pretty and quiet, I think."

  Chapter 7

  She didn't know if where they ended up was a park or what, but it was gorgeous. It was silent except for the occasional sound of the wind blowing through the pines
, and pastoral, away from the city but providing a nice view of it, as well as the millions of stars in the sky. Ia didn't expect that he was going to ask her to get out of the car, but then he came around to her side, and she did.

  "It's very beautiful here," she commented, growing more nervous by the minute, with a death grip on the clutch she should just have left in the car. But she needed something to hold on to.

  "No, you're beautiful here, there, and everywhere, Ia." Douglas turned her toward him, noting her freezing cold hands again, and rescuing the small purse from certain death to throw it into the car behind her. "If you need something to hold onto, I'm right here," he murmured, taking a step closer to her.

  Ia had never felt so small and helpless in her life. He was a big, tall, strong man—especially in comparison to her—and she was utterly alone with him. That realization made her feel just slightly afraid.

  As if he could sense it, Douglas didn't crowd her any further, nor did he try to grab her in any way, or even hug her. Instead, he put a simple finger beneath her chin and tipped it up to his. "I couldn't believe it when you admitted that you hadn't had your first kiss yet. Are all Yanks just plain blind—not that I'm objecting, you understand?"

  He knew her face was that becoming shade of pink, even though he couldn't see it in the darkness.

  She looked terribly nervous, and he didn't think that there was much he could do to soothe her beyond that which he had come here to do.

  "And thank you for sharing that with me. It couldn't have been easy to admit, although it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

  "It wasn't."

  "Well, I'm just going to proceed on the idea that you're a complete innocent about everything we do in regards to becoming physically closer, and I'm going to make sure that I check in with you regularly, so you don't get scared, okay?"

  Ia just nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but she really liked what he was saying. She knew from hearing about other girls' dates that not very many men would be so empathetic or understanding about how backward she was in regards to her experiences with men, or the severe lack of them.

  With her face tilted up to his, Douglas stared into her eyes for a few long seconds, then he slowly brushed his lips against hers. It was a teasing kiss, meant to entice and inspire rather than overpower, and she whimpered slightly when he pulled away, tongue darting out to trace her lips.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, taking hold of her hands.

  Ia nodded. "Yes, thank you."

  "Good. More?"

  Her eyes found his shyly before dancing away, answering primly, "Yes, please."

  As he took another step toward her, bringing their bodies into contact, shoulder to knees, he whispered on a groan, "Oh, honey, you are going to be the death of me with this."

  She tried to jerk away from him suddenly at that, but he maintained his hold on her hands so that she couldn't get very far. "Oh, dear, am I hurting you in a way I don't know about, Douglas?"

  Perversely, he treasured how upset she was getting at that idea, enjoying the evidence of her empathy toward him, however misplaced.

  "Only in the best possible way, Ia. And it's nothing for you to worry about."

  Her eyes found his, and he melted at how genuinely concerned she looked.

  "I am absolutely fine. I just want to kiss you more than I want to take my next breath. But you are not to think about that, dear heart. This is a time when I want you to be selfish and self-involved and just accept and experience all of the feelings that come to you."

  He had again closed the distance between them, his mouth settled on hers more firmly this time, but still not in a demanding or even slightly rough way. Instead, he simply melded them together, tongue darting out to trace hers, which must've tickled her because she laughed a bit then, and he delighted in the sound.

  Douglas wrapped his arms around her lightly, giving her plenty of space. "All right?" he asked again, and she nodded, innocently offering her mouth to him again.

  He accepted that invitation with a murmured, "Like I said, the death of me. But I'll die happily, to have a taste of you."

  This was a fuller, more mature kiss, where he held her chin firmly, insistently slanting his mouth across hers, tongue slipping between her lips to demandingly coax her mouth to open further.

  Ia could barely draw a full breath. Her hands came up to hold him, not because she wanted to do that—necessarily—but because she needed to grab onto something, or she was going to crumple to the ground as intently pleasant sensations flooded her mind and body.

  How had she not done this before? It was one of the most extraordinary things she'd ever experienced.

  Her mouth opened experimentally, only a bit, but his tongue took the opportunity to delve into the warm wetness of her mouth, and it fell much more open at his invasion.

  Arms wrapping more tightly around her, encouraging her to arch and press those pretty breasts against his chest, Douglas knew his control was hanging by a thread. She was perfect. She fit into his arms as if she was made for him. Her inexperience and the utterly innocent way in which she was yielding herself to him, had him grasping to maintain control in a way he hadn't had to ever before.

  After long moments of indulgent sensuality and grappling with his baser instincts, he lifted his head, clasping her to him as she laid her head on his shoulder while he ruthlessly brought himself back to reality. They were both panting, and he was shaking like she had been when she'd first gotten into the car with him, but for a very different reason.

  He kissed the top of her head, smelling a combination of her shampoo and the light, floral perfume she was wearing, neither of which helped him in his goal of tamping down his desire for her.

  "You, my dear, are one dangerous little lady," he said, deliberately grasping her upper arms to set her a foot away from him.

  "I am?" she asked coquettishly, although he didn't think of her that way. But Ia wanted to kiss him more, and without thinking about whether she ought to or about any of the possible consequences, she reclaimed the ground she'd lost when he'd put her back from him. Then she reached up and put a hand on either side of his face, bringing his lips down onto hers again.

  He didn't think she'd even heard her own small groan of pleasure when he began to kiss her in return.

  This time, she ended up bent over his arm, as he finally left her mouth to leave a wet trail of kisses down the sensitive column of her neck. She literally whimpered as he did so, and he very nearly ruined his pants at the raw, innate sensuality of that unguarded expression of the passion she was feeling.

  But when he got to her collarbone, knowing that the next step was to unbutton her demure little dress so that he had access to her breasts, he forced himself to stop. It took everything in him to do it, but he did—not just putting her out of his reach this time, but actually turning his back to her and walking a few feet away.

  Ia had no idea why he was rejecting her like this. And although she really didn't want to ask, she couldn't help it. Her insecurities were eating her alive from the inside out, and she really felt she had no choice. "Douglas? D-did I do something wrong? Was I too…was I too unladylike," she whispered the word as if it was a vulgarity and not fit to say out loud, "or do you think I'm a-a tramp because I kissed you?"

  Douglas rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, still trying to get himself back under control, but, at the same time, he could hear the fear and self-loathing in her tone that so many American women seemed to feel about participating in anything physical, and he knew that she needed reassurance from him right now.

  So, he took a deep breath and approached her, arms out. "Come here, Ia." The command was quietly but firmly delivered.

  She'd crumpled in on herself a little, but he felt a certain sense of satisfaction when she began to walk to him almost immediately, not stopping until she was pressed up against him and within the circle of the strong arms that wrapped themselves tightly around her.

  Douglas f
ound himself glad that she was as innocent as she was, or she might have been made even more upset by the way his hard on was nearly bursting through his zipper and pressing into her belly.

  "Shh, shh, shh, baby. There's no need to be upset. And you did nothing wrong, and I can prove that to you."

  "How so?" she wondered, face still buried against his chest.

  "Is your bottom sore?"

  That's a weird question, she thought. "No." She couldn't possibly have sounded any more skeptical, and it made him chuckle.

  "Well, then, you know that you have no need to be sorry."

  She tried to take an indignant step away from him at that, but he wouldn't allow it.

  "No, you stay right where you are, little girl."

  Ia surprised him then by actually stomping her foot. "I am not a little girl!"

  But he just chuckled again, catching her chin so that she had to look all that way up at him. "You most certainly are—look how short you are. You barely come up to my chest! And then you stomped your little foot like you were five-years-old and likely to throw a tantrum, which I'm sure you know would be unadvisable in front of me—or any other time, should I ever hear about one. If you act like a five-year-old, I'm going to treat you like one."

  Ignoring the rest of what he'd said—even though he was right; it was insulting—in favor of latching onto the one thing she had no control over. "I can't help how short I am! Not all of us are trees, you know!"

  She was adorable when she was angry, and he had to kiss her again. As soon as his mouth found hers, though, she melted into him, opening it and touching his lips with her tongue as if to coax his out to play.

  "Oh, no. You are much too enticing for that," he said, shaking his head and putting her away from him again. "Stay right there."

  But she just came right back again as if he hadn't said a thing, smiling brightly at him and leaning up on tiptoes to try to kiss him again.