I can keep on repressing them, I informed the flame. I've basically killed those desires from disuse. And if I stay out of the spotlight, everyone will leave me alone and stop talking about me.
"Bullshit," the flame declared. "Look at him. He's gorgeous, and he's got more passion in his actions than anyone else you've met recently. If Champagne was here, what would she be telling you to do?"
Not a good role model, I thought distantly, even as I felt myself leaning forward. And Champagne's devoted to Tarquin.
"But you don't have a husband," the flame answered. "Have some fun. You don't have to go home alone tonight."
I wasn't going to go all the way. Maybe, that little logical part of my mind still desperately hoped, Tanner didn't see me that way. Maybe, in addition to speaking with such passion about his book, he also felt a similar passion towards men, rather than women. He'd confess to being gay, we'd share a little laugh about it, and then I could get out of this stupid charity party and back to my house, to crawl back under the covers of my bed and hope that this little flare up of sexual desire, after so long, would turn out to be just the final death knell of my libido.
But when I looked up into Tanner's blue eyes, saw them focused so intently on me in that strong and powerfully featured face, I knew that this wasn't the look of a gay man. An answering reflection of the flame inside my own head burned behind his eyes, making them catch the light from inside with extra intensity. His hands, resting on my upper arms, tightened and drew me in against him.
He was warm. That's what I felt, more than anything else. I felt his warmth seeping into me, fighting back the chill that I hadn't realized had invaded my limbs. He didn't move with the sinuous grace that some pampered, wealthy scions had, but drew me closer almost roughly, as if he couldn't fully hold back his need.
I tilted my head back as I came closer, looking up at him – and his lips descended to meet mine.
A little bolt of lightning transferred between us. I'd been holding myself back, telling myself that he wouldn't kiss me – and even if he did, I wouldn't feel anything. I didn't love this man, barely knew him at all, and while I could blame a little brush of the lips on a drunken mistake, I couldn't tell my husband's memory that this rush of heat burning through me, setting every nerve ending aflame in desire, was just because of a couple of glasses of champagne.
I should say something. I should do something. I needed to take action, bring this amazing kiss to a stop.
I didn't do that. Instead, I lifted my arms, my fingers running up the stained undershirt he'd been wearing beneath the military jacket, and wrapped my hands around his neck to pull myself closer against him. With my arms up, the jacket that he'd draped around my shoulders slipped off, landing with a soft thud on the balcony behind me.
The breeze reached out to chill me again, but I had the warmth of Tanner to counteract it. I leaned in against his body, unable to make myself care about impropriety. I felt his hardness, the strength of his muscles, push back against my own thinness beneath the sheath of black fabric that draped my body. His hands slid down, tightening on the small of my back and pulling me against him.
Finally, as little lights popped in my vision, we had to separate and draw in breath. "Wow," Tanner panted out, even as I felt his chest expand with a deep breath. He might have let my lips detach from his, but he didn't release his hold on my body. I didn't want him to do so, didn't want him to let me go. "A kiss from my muse."
"I'm not a muse," I started to say, but he shook his head ever so slightly, arresting my words.
"You're inspiring me," he responded, and then drew me in for another kiss.
This time, I came even more willingly to meet his lips as they quested for my own.
Chapter Seven
HELEN
*
I kissed him again, then once more, and then another time just for good measure. My lips tingled from pressing against him, and I tasted his saliva on my own tongue. He'd pushed to open my lips and taste the inside of my mouth on one of the recent kisses, and I gleefully and eagerly granted him access.
"I..." I stammered out, when we finally paused again for breath, both of us breathing heavily. "I don't usually do this."
He smiled down at me, but it was a smile without rancor or judgment. "I don't do this, either."
"Bullshit." But somehow, instinctively, I believed him. He kissed with passion and hunger for me, but he didn't give off the impression of a player, a man who normally seduced women or had them in his arms.
"It's true." Despite the insult I'd tossed at him, he even smiled! "I can't even remember the last time I kissed a woman."
My eyebrows climbed. "Really?"
He groaned. "That didn't sound quite like how I intended." His eyes roamed down over my body as it pressed in against him, my shoulders standing out bare, uncovered by dress or jacket. "How about I can't remember the last time that I kissed anyone who looked so beautiful?"
"Now you're trying too hard." Playfully, I tugged aback as if intending to disengage, even as a little part of my mind wondered what I was doing. Was I... flirting? I needed Champagne to be here, just to tell me if I was doing it right!
No, I corrected that thought immediately. I most definitely did not need Champagne to show up and witness any of this! This was just a mistake, a momentary little slip up that happened because Tanner was attractive, and my loneliness flared up, and he'd been close and smelling amazing and looking at me with want in his eyes...
No matter how many times I told myself it was a mistake, I couldn't deny that voice in my head insisting that I do it again – perhaps several more times.
"I think that, maybe for a muse, I need to try a little harder than usual," Tanner said, interrupting my inner dialogue. "But I'm up for the challenge."
I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant – but he'd already leaned forward. He didn't kiss me on the lips, this time, but instead placed his lips against the side of my neck, working his way down across one exposed shoulder blade. I groaned with long-unsatisfied desire, arching up on my tiptoes towards him as I felt the soft tickle of his skin on mine. His hands dropped down slightly from the small of my back, curling around my hips and pulling me tightly against him. I pushed myself against those baggy fatigue-patterned pants that he wore, and fancied that I could feel his manhood inside, pounding and filled with desire for me.
I ought to be grossed out by that, bothered that his desire was so crass and obvious.
I didn't feel grossed out or bothered in the slightest. I wanted more, and my body pressed back against him with need.
Only with more effort than I might have ever spent on any action before was I finally able to push Tanner back, gain at least a few inches of breathing room as I tried to muster my aroused and swirling thoughts together. I looked up at him, opened my mouth, but didn't have any words to capture the roaring of blood in my ears.
Tanner kissed... well, he kissed much like how he talked. It wasn't a great explanation, but it was the only way I could phrase the passion that he put into his attentions to me. He dove in whole-heartedly, not the slightest bit self-conscious of what anyone else might think if they saw him.
I risked a glance around, suddenly fearful that someone else might have stepped out onto the balcony and caught sight of us. Thankfully, the area was still empty; we were the only two beneath the big, round moon hanging like a ripe fruit in the sky.
I turned back to Tanner, just in time to see his smile fade slightly. "That... that was pretty forward of me, wasn't it?" he said, pulling a grimace. "I'm not trying to pressure you into anything."
"Pressure me into anything?" I repeated back to him. Something about the way that he shifted from arousal to bashfulness couldn't help but put a smile back on my face. "Like what, exactly?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe if you're all hot and distracted, you'll spend more money tonight on supporting the homeless and poor?"
I laughed at that bit of ridiculousness. "As far
as fundraising strategies go, that doesn't seem like the best choice."
"Yeah, but you haven't seen it fully in action," he countered, stepping past me to lean back against the balcony as he crossed his arms across his chest. "We've got a hundred people in there, male and female supermodels, each with their own target picked out. Pretty soon, there will be so many hormones in the air inside, you won't be able to breathe without having a little orgasm right there."
I knew that he didn't mean to set me off, but the word 'orgasm' sent another little quiver of delight running down my spine. Looking at the bulges of the muscles in Tanner's arms, I wondered how well he'd be able to bring about an orgasm in me. The two of us, in bed together, him on top of me, naked and strong and dominating me, making me feel like I wasn't alone, like I was possessed and claimed, taking me and using me for his own pleasure, letting me release my tight-fisted grip on control for just a short time and surrender utterly to whatever he wanted from me...
I snapped out of that fantasy, blinking. Thankfully, the man hadn't noticed my little lapse in concentration! He did, however, notice that my jacket had landed on the ground in our recent bout of kissing.
"Whoops. That was me, wasn't it?" He bent forward, reaching down to pick up the jacket, and I saw that white undershirt ride up slightly on his back to expose a few little bumps of his spine.
I really ought to remove myself from this situation, whispered my logical little voice of prudence inside my head. I ought to tell Tanner politely that he was a perfectly nice man, and then hurry back inside to rejoin the party, keep a safe distance from him. I couldn't let on to anyone else that I, the Black Widow, had gone after another man. They'd never let me go after they heard that rumor. I'd go back inside, socialize politely and frostily with people who saw me as nothing more than a target of gossip, bid some money to support the poor in our city, and then go back home. Alone.
I'd never before hesitated from doing the right thing. Always, even when Marcone passed away and I was capsized in a sea of grief, I'd always known instinctively what I needed to do at any moment. Play the good hostess, keep it together, remain cool and collected and don't show any cracks.
I knew that this little voice of prudence was correct. I opened my mouth to thank Tanner for the brief and pleasurable diversion, but that we couldn't do anything further, and I'd appreciate greatly if he kept his mouth shut about this and didn't brag or boast to anyone else about what might have occurred between us.
"Come home with me."
He jerked his head up, mouth dropping open for a second. "What?" he asked.
I felt as surprised as he looked! That hadn't been what I meant to say! But standing there, wavering on the knife's edge between going back inside or just fleeing into the darkness, I heard that dark little voice of the flame, of desire, whispering seductively up to me.
"I don't want to go back inside," I blurted out. With my mind caught on the horns of this dilemma, I couldn't seem to intercept any of the words heading straight for my mouth. "I hate those people in there, and they just want to gossip about me. I want to go home."
Good lord, could I be any more of a whiner? But after a second, Tanner pulled himself back under control, giving me a nod.
"This way," he said confidently, gesturing off towards the far edge of the balcony.
"What's over here?"
He glanced over his shoulder at me, smiled. "This house is ancient, and has all sorts of hidden secret passages. I've found a bunch of them, but I don't think that I, or even Richard, knows them all. There's one over here that the servants apparently used to deliver tea out to the balcony without going through the main chambers. We can use it to get straight to the kitchens."
Tanner must be close friends with Richard if he spent enough time over here to learn the house's secret passages. The kitchens would probably be filled with waitstaff and workers – but at least they might not recognize my face, might let me slip past them without comment. I let Tanner guide me forward through a smaller door all but hidden behind vines covering the rear of the house, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand pressed against the small of my back.
Sure enough, after moving down a narrow corridor and around a couple of turns, the passage brought us into the hive of activity inside the kitchens. Tanner didn't stop, for which I was intensely grateful. He kept on moving purposefully forward, guiding me ahead of him and nodding politely but blankly to any cooks or waiters who glanced in our direction.
"Now, through here," he murmured in my ear, turning me to the side as we stepped out of the kitchen. We passed through a small sitting room that apparently hadn't been worth opening for the public, and then descended down a flight of stairs. I frowned at that – hadn't we come in on the ground floor? Why would we go to the basement – but didn't stop, kept letting Tanner guide me.
We passed through a rather dusty basement storeroom, filled with furniture covered in draped sheets, with enough dust hanging in the air to make me sneeze. One more door and hallway later, and we stepped out into a darkened area – where the coolness of the outdoor evening air once again made my skin prickle.
"Where are we now?" I asked, blinking and trying to adjust to the darkness.
"Underground parking structure," Tanner answered. "They must have the lights on a sensor, but I've stubbed my toes enough times in here to know my way around. This is where the valets are probably parking all the cars. Yours should be down here."
I paused. "I... didn't drive a car here," I said, aware of how this would sound.
It only fazed Tanner for a second. "You got a ride here?" he asked.
I nodded, and then realized that he couldn't see this gesture in the darkness. "Yes. With a friend, but she's somewhere upstairs." Probably the life of the party, too, I thought with more than a touch of envy as I pictured Champagne, surrounded by admiring men as she threw her head back in a laugh (and, coincidentally, also gave all the bystanders a great look at her amazing cleavage).
"Well, I can handle that. My truck's parked in the back corner. If you can navigate, I can get you home."
"You really don't have to..." I began, but Tanner was already moving forward. His hand slipped off my back, and I nearly panicked for a second in the darkness before his fingers found my own.
"This way," he said, his voice calming and lending me strength in the darkness. "Just keep up with me."
Holding onto him, I moved through the darkness. Tanner led me across what felt like miles of asphalt before finally coming to a stop. "Now just hold on one sec," he said, and I heard the clink of car keys. "Stupid keyholes, hard to find in the dark..."
Another minute later, light suddenly bloomed from inside the truck, and I had to hold up one hand and shield my eyes until they adjusted to the unexpected brightness after being in the dark so long. The light revealed an older, slightly dented Chevy pickup, with rust spots over the wheel wells and flaking paint. Tanner moved around and opened the passenger door for me, physically inserting his key into the door to unlock it!
"No electronic anything on it," he bragged, as he held the door open for me. "Makes it easy to fix if it breaks, although I do miss being able to beep the key and find it in a parking lot."
Somehow, the truck seemed perfectly fitting for the man. Most wealthy men that I knew loved to show off their bank statements by driving the most expensive cars they could afford. They went for roaring engines, custom bodywork, turbos and horsepower and other things that I really didn't understand.
But I'd met others who didn't seem to care in the slightest about what they drove. Men like Tanner, men with integrity and who felt comfortable enough in their own skin to not worry about how others judged them. I once met a billionaire who happily explained to me how he ruined a Merino wool sweater once by crawling under his Ford Focus to change the oil. "Taught my ex-wife a thing or two, when I came back inside all covered in oil," he'd told me, and I couldn't help but laugh at his self-confidence.
Tanner, I saw, was like that. He
didn't feel at all ashamed of driving a pickup truck nearly as old as he was, didn't care if anyone looked askance at the rust and the manual locks and the dents. It was him, and he probably got more enjoyment out of driving the pickup than most other men felt from behind the wheel of their Ferraris and Lamborghinis.
I climbed up into the cabin, let Tanner close the passenger door. He moved back around to slip behind the wheel, and I smiled at him.
"You sure you want to leave this early?" he asked me, and I nodded.
"Take me home," I repeated, feeling more confident in my decision.
Chapter Eight
TANNER
*
To be honest, I still wasn't entirely sure what I was doing.
From the moment that I started talking to this woman – Helen – everything seemed to slip away from me, out of control, spiraling off too fast for me to get it back under control. She was clearly one of the wealthy guests at the party, and I'd just started talking to her out of politeness.
But then, I started talking about my book, and... whoa. I hadn't been kidding when I called her a muse. Suddenly, talking to her, my brain lit up with ideas like never before. She just smiled and listened to me, but it felt like she was opening a tap inside my brain that had been rusted shut before she arrived with lubricating oil to get it moving again. Now that it was open, my head buzzed with inspiration.
She listened, and encouraged, and suddenly I'd been moving in closer to her. I looked down slightly at her, just an inch or two shorter than me, at those full lips that seemed to contrast so strongly with the rest of her pale and delicate features. Those brown eyes were full of warmth, and I couldn't stop myself.
I could make plenty of excuses, of course. It had been far too long since I'd last kissed any woman, really had any sort of romantic contact. She'd been so tempting, so gorgeous in that black dress that clung to the thin and elegant lines of her body.
But no matter what I told myself, it had been a mistake. No matter how amazing she felt as she melted against me, no matter how much I loved the little sound of pure, distilled passion that slipped from her throat and drove me to even greater amorous lengths, I'd crossed an inappropriate and unforgivable line. I was supposed to be acting as help for the party – and while that might include setting up chairs and delivering appetizers on little trays, it most definitely didn't include kissing a guest!
For Love of Passion (Stone Brothers Book 4) Page 5