By Private Invitation

by Stephanie Julian

  With what she hoped was just enough haughty disdain, she lifted her chin and prepared to brazen it out. “If I ever decide to go incognito to another party, I’ll remember that. Now, I have a busy agenda today, so if you—”

  “Actually”—he grinned, and that really was a crime against women—“I do have something that belongs to you. Two things, really.”

  She frowned. Heat drenched her and her cheeks began to burn as he tugged on a small swatch of green silk showing just above his front jeans pocket. The bastard did have her thong.

  “But I’m only giving one back.” He left the silk where it was as he reached into his shirt pocket with his other hand. The pin reflected the sunlight pouring through the front windows.

  Holding her gaze, he walked toward the counter. Even though she stood behind it, she felt the need to step back, away from him. It was too easy for her to get lost in his warm—or perhaps lying—gaze. She resolutely held her position.

  He set the pin on the counter and nudged it toward her with one long finger.

  “The pin belongs to your grandmother,” she stated, hoping her voice sounded as hard as it did in her head.

  “Not according to my grandmother.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean? Are you telling me that’s not your grandmother’s pin?” She laughed, but it sounded like gravel grinding under tires. “So your little scheme was all for nothing.”

  He never even blinked. “I never had a ‘scheme,’ Belle. I only wanted you. Naked and under me. Naked and over me. Naked and next to me.”

  Oh, God, how could he make her thighs clench and sex contract by just talking? “I can’t believe a word you say.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t really expect you to. But the pin is yours, regardless of the fact that it was stolen from my grandmother.”

  Her fingers itched to reach for it, so she clasped her hands together in front of her behind the desk. “Please take it and leave.”

  He shook his head. “We have unfinished business.”

  “There is nothing unfinished between us.”

  He smiled that smile again. “Honey, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I might have come, but I wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.”

  Pure lust swamped Annabelle’s entire body in a wave of remembered pleasure, even though she didn’t want to remember.

  “I want you to leave.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are you so sure about that?”

  She gasped. “Can you really be so arrogant? You played me for a fool that night. You expect me to welcome you back with open arms?”

  “Annabelle, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, before I noticed the pin. And you wanted me.”

  No way would she respond to that one. “Just leave, Jared. I don’t want you here.”

  But she did. At least, her body did. Her body ached for him. And she couldn’t allow that.

  He couldn’t be here. He made her want—Well, he just made her want so badly.

  And she couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself be taken under by uncontrolled desire.

  She turned from him and walked. Anywhere. She just had to get away from him. Her head was spinning and it was all his fault. She couldn’t have this. Not now, not with Carmen Moran on the way—

  She froze as she realized where her feet had taken her. Her gallery.

  And she knew he’d followed her.

  “Yes, you—” Jared stopped in mid-sentence.

  She stood there staring straight ahead, feeling him behind her, knowing he took in everything—the paintings, the statuary, the tapestries.

  This room held her life’s work. Her passion.

  And the only way out was through the doorway Jared now stood in. She would have to go by him to get out.

  If she so much as touched him…

  She managed to stop herself before that thought went any further.

  But her treacherous mind began to replay their night together. In full, sweaty color.

  Her. Him. The man who’d joined them. The other couples in the room.

  Her lungs began to struggle for air.

  “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you had quite a collection of your own.” His tone was awestruck. “My God, Annabelle, this is amazing.”

  “Please leave.” She’d plead if she had to. He needed to be gone. Or her resolve was going to fail spectacularly. “You’re going to ruin my entire day.”

  “I would never want to do that, sweetheart.”

  She jolted as she felt his finger trace the line of her left cheekbone, trailing warmth. Her eyes closed, shutting out the room, but that only enhanced her sense of him. The heat of his body seeped into her, making her want…

  A shiver coursed through her, which she knew he felt.

  Distance. She needed to put some distance between them, but the only way to do that was to go further into the room. And she didn’t want to do that either.

  She turned her head, breaking the contact with his finger. His hand dropped to his side.

  Remorse tried to rise but she fought it back with anger.

  “Jared, if you came to apologize, fine.” She tried to sound hard, cold. She was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. “If I accept it, will you leave?”

  “I apologize for not returning the pin immediately,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. “I would have come sooner, but there was that little matter of tracking you down. However,” he said, holding up his hand, “I refuse to apologize for making love to you.”

  She shook her head, furious that tears had crept into her eyes again. “I don’t want to talk about that. It was all a lie, anyway.”

  Jared clamped his mouth shut on his immediate denial. He knew she wouldn’t believe him. Not yet.

  And he’d rather show her how wrong she was. He wanted to kiss her and be done with it. He’d wanted to since the moment he’d walked into the shop. Hell, he’d craved it since the morning she’d disappeared.

  That worried the hell out of him. But he was damn good at ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with.

  And when he did have to deal with something unpleasant, he could usually charm his way through it.

  But for the first time in his life, he worried his charm might not be enough to get him out of this situation and back into Belle’s good graces.

  “How could you doubt exactly what I was feeling?” he said. “I never lied about that.”

  That brought her gaze around to him. How could he have ever thought she was merely pretty? With her cheeks pink-tinged with anger, her green eyes flashing and her chest heaving, she was gorgeous.

  “Oh, please. Men are ruled by their sex drives.” She flung out a hand. “Doesn’t all of this prove that?”

  He swung his gaze around the room again, taking a closer look this time. The artwork in the display cases appeared to be Asian. Couples in various sexual positions, some he’d never imagined. That was slightly humbling.

  And holy shit, she had two O’Malleys. Both from the same series.

  He’d check those out later, along with the rest of her collection, but now one particular small object caught his eye. He moved away from her, hoping like hell that she didn’t leave, and walked to a shelf on the other side of the room.

  “What I see is a collection of artwork celebrating lovemaking,” he said.

  He turned to catch her expression and was again struck by how much he wanted her. Even in the straight-laced suit with all the buttons precisely done up and the blocky square-heeled shoes, she exuded sexuality. She seemed to draw it from her surroundings. Especially in here. She lit up in this room.

  Right now, though, she looked a little flustered. It puzzled him.

  “Most men see it as a sign that I’m easy.”

  His brows flew up. “Oh, yeah? Then they’re not really worth the time, are they?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, her expression firming. “What do you want, Mr. Golden?”

  He smiled. H
e had an easy answer to that one.

  “I want you…to accept the pin and my apology. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Her expression didn’t change, though she blinked twice. “Accepted. Now please leave.”

  He grinned, baring his teeth. No way.

  He knew she wouldn’t give in easily, but he had no intention of losing her so quickly this time around. This time, he would decide when they were through.

  “Why don’t you show me around a little first? I’d really like to see your collection.”

  Her pretty chin hitched up another notch. “There’s nothing here I want to show you.”

  “Really?” He turned to pick up a large wooden object from the display case beside him then held it out to her. “How about this?”

  She flushed but he didn’t think it was in embarrassment. No, she was pissed. And that was much better than hurt.

  She swallowed hard and met his gaze.

  “Do you know what you’re holding?” That husky voice of hers took on a schoolteacher tone.

  He took another look at the object. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure what it’s supposed to represent. But why don’t you tell me about it?”

  She fought the urge to answer, fought it so hard, he could almost imagine her biting her tongue to keep from answering. Finally, she walked near enough to gently pluck the precisely detailed phallus from his palm.

  “Not that you care, but that’s five hundred years old and African.” She turned to replace it to the shelf and quickly stepped away from him, as if he might bite.

  And he just might.

  He turned to the display shelves again and examined the beautifully detailed netsuke. She must have more than a hundred of the tiny Japanese carvings, representing almost as many variations of the sex act. They were some of the finest work he’d ever seen though he didn’t collect them.

  He collected paintings and etchings and he’d thought he had a damn good collection of erotic art. Annabelle’s put his to shame.

  He recognized pieces by Romano, Paul Emile Becat, Antoine Borel, and Agostino Carracci. No Beardsleys, which made sense. He remembered she didn’t like him. There were a few by artists he didn’t recognize, one or two he’d like to buy.

  Especially the O’Malleys.

  Not that he considered even broaching that subject now. He had designs on much more than her artwork.

  He wanted her. She’d become a craving, one he needed to work out of his system. Maybe because she’d been the one to walk away first. That didn’t happen to him often. Usually women wanted to keep him and used any and all weapons at their disposal.

  But he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He only wanted her again. At least one more time.

  He turned to find her watching him, her mouth pursed but her eyes…

  She could pretend all she wanted but she wanted him too. She couldn’t hide the heat in her gaze. Not when she looked at him like that.

  But first he had to make amends.

  “Annabelle, I am sorry I hurt you that night. My only excuse…Well, my only two excuses are that I love my grandmother and I wanted you. I still want you.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he took a step closer. “I dream about you. I can’t go into the Salon without replaying that night in my mind.” He bent close enough to nip her earlobe if he wanted. “I go into that room a lot and it’s damned inconvenient to walk around with a hard-on all day.”

  Now he did catch her lobe between his teeth as he heard her breath catch. He let the silky skin slide through his teeth then blew on it. She shivered and her lips parted to allow a heavy sigh to escape.

  Then she moved away again. “I don’t want anything you have to offer, Jared.”

  “Yeah, I’m not buying that, sweetheart.” He traced a line from her shoulder to her hand then back up, until he came to the first button on her jacket. “I think you dream about me. I think you dream about that night and want more.”

  When she didn’t knock his hand away, he flicked open the button.

  “I think you burn for me like I do for you.” Another button gave up the fight. “I think you want me to show you. Right here. Right now.”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t do anything, just stood there, still as a statue, those green eyes glazed and staring straight ahead.

  “I am so sorry I hurt you, Annabelle,” he breathed into her ear, meaning every word. “I never meant to hurt you. Let me make it up to you.”

  He touched his mouth to hers, brushing their lips together, trying to get a response from her. When she only stood there, he turned his head to slant his lips over hers and delve deeper.

  He wanted her to respond, wanted her to feel as out of control as he did.

  And when she moaned and threw her arms around his neck to draw him closer, harsh desire broadsided him. He thrust his tongue between her lips and stroked her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth. She welcomed him, opening her mouth wider to accept him, and it was his turn to groan.

  Grabbing her hips to bring her against his raging erection, he felt a strange mixture of relief and heightened desire twist his insides into knots.

  He would gladly leave them that way, content for the moment to kiss her, to have her cling to him and to feel her body against his. But he wanted so much more than a kiss, especially if it only took her kiss to affect him like this.

  He raised his hands to finish unbuttoning her suit coat and bumped into hers, scrabbling at his shirt placket. His heart started to pound against the wall of his chest.

  It became a race. By the time she had his shirt unbuttoned to the waistband of his jeans, he had her suit jacket on the floor and her shirt around her elbows. Breaking off the kiss, he looked down. The plain white bra confining her breasts made him that much more determined to get rid of it fast.

  He lifted his hands to remove it, but stopped before he ripped it away. He heard his breathing, hard and heavy, and lust pumped through his body.

  Slow down. Take it easy. She’s not going anywhere. And you’re not a teenager.

  Hell, even as a teenager, he’d never been this out of control.

  And it was all her fault.

  He stared down at Annabelle, his cock throbbing as she stared up at him. She wasn’t smiling but the heat in her eyes seared him, made him burn.

  She held on to his gaze as she bared his chest, pushing aside his shirt. He swore she should be able to see his heart pounding through his ribs.

  As she watched, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the center of his chest and nuzzling her nose in the hair, then kissing a path to his left nipple.

  Slow down. Slow down.

  The words chanted through his head, even as his body urged him to lay her on the floor and take her.

  As slowly as he could, he reached for the front clasp on her bra. Feeling as unsteady as a teenager, he snapped it open and watched the cups part to reveal a tantalizingly small portion of creamy skin.

  When he reached up to nudge them open even more, Annabelle’s gaze lifted to snag his. She didn’t say a word, but he caught a hint of something vulnerable, something cautious in her eyes. Something he’d put there by his actions on New Year’s Eve.

  He brushed his hand across her eyes, urging her to close them, then fastened his mouth over hers again. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her into him, her breasts crushing against his chest.

  He heard the thump as her shoes hit the floor, felt her warm hand move to the zipper of his jeans. She slipped her fingers into the opening and caressed him through his boxers, shivers of pleasure making his flesh leap toward her.

  If she kept that up, he’d come in her hand.

  Holding her against him with one arm, he reached for her skirt zipper with his free hand and pushed her skirt to the floor. The pantyhose would be tougher, he knew from experience, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He reached for the waistband…and found a garter belt instead.

  Jesus. His cock gave a hard pulse as he realized there was sti
ll a little bit of the woman he’d met on New Year’s Eve under all these prissy clothes. Releasing her mouth, he trailed kisses over her jawline and up to her ear. “Annabelle, I want you to leave those on.”

  She nodded. Or she shuddered. He wasn’t sure which. Either way, she didn’t argue. He never looked to see what underwear she wore. He just hooked his thumb into one side and pulled, letting them drop to the floor.

  Setting her on her feet, his mouth took hers again as one hand wrapped around her neck and the other landed on her mound, petting the pretty little patch of curls there before sinking lower to her bare lips. Her bare, wet lips.

  She moaned around his tongue as he breached her mouth. The taste of her made his blood run thick, and the hand on her pussy stroked between her folds, his fingertips slick from her moisture.

  The scent of her arousal acted like a drug, making him oblivious to everything but the smell of her, the feel of her.

  He had to have her. He lifted his head, his eyes searching…

  Christ, there’s so much stuff. Not as much as in the front room but still…Wait, there. That would do just fine.

  “Jared, wa—”

  He kissed her again, cutting off what he was sure would’ve been “wait.”

  He didn’t want to wait. Hell, he didn’t think he could. She’d infected him like a virus. And he knew she wanted him. She arched against him, pushing her mound into his hand, her body telling him she didn’t really want to wait.

  Lifting her again, he strode toward the ornate velvet chaise in the corner by the far wall. Luckily it had a cushion, but he wouldn’t have cared at this point if it were covered in nails.

  But instead of placing Annabelle on it, he set her on her feet as he sat. Drawing her between his legs, he feasted on her breasts, now at the perfect height for his mouth.

  He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders, her deep moan incentive to suck harder. His fingers kneaded flesh wherever they landed, sliding down the sensuous silk of her stockings. He stroked her bare bottom, her hips, and up to her breasts, where he suckled until her nipples stood out in tight peaks.

  From his shoulders, her hands swept down his arms and up into his hair, her fingers tugging him closer.

  “Jared.”

  Her husky voice stroked along his skin, pouring more gasoline on the fire.