It was a good thing Henry didn’t have access to a cribbage board.
“Because we don’t want you to get hurt.”
Ivy’s eyes widened as she absorbed what Samuel had just said. “Hurt?” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you mean hurt?”
Samuel glanced at Henry, who shrugged in reply.
“I won’t get hurt.” She lowered her gaze to her desk. Thankfully, there were some papers that required her attention. “I’ll be up later.”
It was a clear dismissal. She waited as they still stood there, then exhaled as they exited the office, closing the door behind them.
Hurt. Did they think she was going to do the unthinkable and fall in love with him? He was her employee. It wouldn’t be appropriate for her to be in a position to get hurt by her employee.
What’s more, he might be plain Mr. de Silva right now, but he wasn’t of her world. Her new world, the one she had made for herself.
She had no doubt that he would return to his previous life once he realized what it meant to inhabit this new world. It was hard, far harder than he likely knew. Not only would he have to shave himself, he would have to adjust to being entirely without servants, without power, without privilege.
It was clear the new duke wanted him back, as did his sister. Once he was done sulking about the change in his life, he would go back.
And she would have gotten the benefit of his ideas, so perhaps she could quit this life, too.
The club was fun; the work was hard, but it was satisfying.
That was a conversation she would have to have with herself at another time.
For right now, she knew she would not allow him to be in the position to hurt her, no matter how charming or handsome he was. No matter that he was going to be living in her home. No matter that she had already thought about his forearms, his stubble, and what it might be like to undress him.
Oh dear. She was already in so much trouble.
“Miss Ivy?”
Ivy raised her head sharply at the interruption. She’d been engrossed in balancing the accounts—who knew a gambling club could spend that much money on glassware and replacement dice, for goodness’ sake—and for a moment, was startled at seeing such a tall, handsome gentleman standing at her doorway.
“Mr. de Silva,” she said, reminding herself to breathe. “Come in.”
He walked in, his eyes focused on hers, his expression neutral.
Right, he had been irked with her last time they’d spoken.
“What is it?” she asked. She curled her mouth into a slight smile. Not so much as to be encouraging, but not so little as to be censorious.
She’d never had to think so much about managing an employee before.
Then again, she’d never had a remarkably handsome ex-duke as an employee before either.
“May I?” He gestured toward the chair.
“Please.”
He sat, crossing one long leg over the other. He leaned forward to put a few pieces of paper on her desk, sliding them toward her. “My ideas for the club.”
She drew them near her, then looked up at him. “Before I take a look, we should discuss what happened yesterday.”
Because if they couldn’t get past it, they wouldn’t be able to have a working relationship. And she’d rather cut her losses now than tread carefully around him, or vice versa.
His mouth thinned, and he took a deep breath. “I apologize. I should not have presumed.” She saw his throat move as he swallowed. “It is not an excuse, but I haven’t had to do . . . any of this before,” he said, gesticulating widely.
She held his gaze a moment before nodding in reply. “That is completely understandable. It is a difficult position to be in, I presume.” She wanted to add, I know myself, but that would be leading him back into a situation where he’d want to ask questions, and she wouldn’t want to answer.
And yet—and yet she wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone. That even though of course she hadn’t been a duke, she had been a lady, with every expectation of following the usual course that ladies did: come out in Society, meet a gentleman, get married, live comfortably for the rest of her life, having children and taking tea.
Perhaps it would give him some measure of comfort to know it was possible to survive, even though she was absolutely certain he would eventually grow tired of this working-for-a-living life and return to his relatives.
But meanwhile—“It can’t happen again.”
“It won’t. Not unless you give permission. Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere.
“Let me take a look at what you’ve done,” she replied, lowering her gaze to the papers.
She read for the next ten minutes, acutely conscious of him sitting there. Not that he was doing anything but sitting, but still. It wasn’t usual for her to have an insanely attractive gentleman watch her do anything, so it felt odd.
“These are good.” She tapped the papers. “It’s good you laid out the strategy for implementation. It’s easy to come up with ideas, but it’s not always as easy to follow through on the plans for them.” She glanced back down again. “These ideas are fun.”
He raised his eyebrows at that, then shifted in his chair. What could she have possibly said to make him react like that?
“Speaking of fun,” he began, his expression returning to its natural rakishness, “your sister doesn’t think you have any.”
Ivy froze. Of course she should have anticipated Octavia would have An Opinion about what Ivy was doing. She had said as much to Ivy in the past few months. But she hadn’t thought that her sister would share her thoughts with the club’s newest employee.
Although she suspected why her sister had done just that.
She felt her cheeks heat, and knew she was close to matching the red pockets on the roulette wheel.
“Octavia is far too interfering,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “And I do have fun.”
His expression practically challenged her to prove it.
So she rose, slowly, crooking her finger at him in an indication to come closer.
He stood, uncoiling his lean frame, and walked to stand in front of her. Just standing. And looking. Not reaching for her, or otherwise indicating what he expected. What he wanted.
Well, he might not be speaking the words aloud, but she knew what she wanted.
And she was going to act on it. That was what independent businesswomen did—they saw something and they went for it. A piece of property, a viable business proposition, a spectacular opportunity.
A handsome gentleman with charm and wit and intelligence.
A spectacular opportunity, indeed, she thought as she grasped the back of his head and drew him down to her mouth, pausing to let him decline if he wished.
The alacrity with which he fastened his mouth on hers told her that he did not wish.
And now they were kissing.
She tasted even better than he had been imagining. Sweet and luscious and open. He placed his fingers at her waist, holding her lightly, bending down to meet her mouth. She was so much shorter than he that it was awkward, but it was oh so worth it. Even if he had neck strain afterward.
He’d never not been the pursuer. He’d always been the one in control, in charge, of any situation, not just one involving amatory pursuits.
But today was an anomaly, an anomaly that would likely last the rest of his life—he was following someone else’s lead. Letting her direct what was happening, whether it was discussing their future work at the club or following her desires.
Thank God she had. He didn’t know if he could have resisted for much longer—not when she licked her lips with that pink tongue, her raised color indicating just what she was thinking about.
But it was even more delicious for having waited.
She held his face down to hers, her fingers digging into his scalp as they threaded through his hair. He wanted to preen like a cat under her touch, but that would require lifting his mouth from hers, and there w
as no possibility he was going to do that.
She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and he gripped her tighter, raising her slightly, spreading his fingers across her torso.
Her tongue was sliding tentatively into his mouth, and he sucked it inside, feeling her shock at the action. Nearly releasing her then since he didn’t want to startle her or seem to force her into something she didn’t want, but then she made another noise, and her tongue tangled with his as she slid her hands down his back to link together at his waist, pulling his body closer into hers.
Which brought his cock in contact with her body, and it reacted predictably, hardening as she continued to kiss him, an enthusiastic fervor tempering the kiss, making him lose his mind and forget everything but the taste of her, how close his fingers were to her breasts.
And then she brought her hands back up over his shoulders, sliding down his chest, pushing the lapels of his jacket aside, touching his chest under his shirt, making him wish he wasn’t wearing anything at all, so she could touch him better.
He groaned, bringing his right hand up to close over her breast, squeezing its lush fullness, pushing his cock closer against her.
It felt good. So good. And they were both still fully clothed, his cock straining in his trousers, their mouths fused together as they licked and sucked with an equal amount of passion.
He took his hand away, bringing both his hands around her, under her bottom, lifting her up, and setting her on top of her desk.
Now this was a game he wanted to play.
Her legs widened, and he stepped between them, wrapping his arms around her body, holding her up as he ravaged her mouth. And she ravaged his.
It would be just a matter of time before he ran his hands up her legs, pushing her skirts up so his throbbing cock could find its purchase.
Slow down, Sebastian. This isn’t one of your experienced ladies.
So he tried to stop thinking about her willing warmth, the satisfaction he’d feel at thrusting into her. How he wanted to cover her nipple with his mouth, suck the tight bud as she arched under him.
Admittedly, he was not doing a good job not thinking about all of that.
But then they heard a door, and sprang apart, her still sitting on the desk, her face flushed, her mouth bruised and swollen.
She looked gorgeous.
Her eyes widened in shock, and she held her hand up to her mouth, which had opened to an O of surprise.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean—” she said, shaking her head as she leaped off the table. Her hair fell forward into her face, so he couldn’t see her expression.
They heard footsteps, and her gaze darted toward the door. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I am not in the habit of taking advantage of my employees, you have to forgive me.” She spoke in a rapid whisper, her tone agitated.
“Yes, of course.” It was an automatic reaction, one bred into him as a gentleman. Not that he was that any longer, but his training still remained.
Had a lady ever apologized for kissing him before?
Of course not. Nor should they.
He frowned as he realized precisely what she’d said. That she was sorry she had kissed him. That it wouldn’t happen again.
Not only did he not want her to be sorry—sorry!—she’d kissed him, he definitely wanted it to happen again.
He wanted to show her all the fun they could manage.
Chapter Ten
Oh my God. What had she done? Who had she done? Why had she done it?
She could answer all of those questions just by looking at him. By speaking with him, having him apologize to her for his presumption. By feeling appreciated for her intelligence and business savvy.
Lord.
“Ivy?”
Octavia spoke just at the door, and then the door opened, and her sister stepped inside. Mr. de Silva’s two dogs trailed at her heels. Octavia’s glance darted between the two of them, and it appeared that she suppressed a smirk.
Humph.
“Oh good, I was actually looking for you, Mr. de Silva. And here you are. With Ivy.” Octavia’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction.
Ivy resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how obvious her sister was being.
“Here I am.” His voice was a bit ragged, and Ivy felt a surge of triumph at having affected him so.
“I was hoping you would allow me to take Byron and Keats out for a walk,” Octavia continued, gesturing toward the dogs. “They started following me to the gambling room, and it seems as though they are restless, as am I, and I thought we could all use a walk. Unless you two wish to take them out?” she said with what Ivy knew to be a deliberately disingenuous smile.
“No,” they both replied in unison.
“I have too much work, Octavia,” Ivy said. “I cannot speak for Mr. de Silva.”
“I wish to hear your sister’s thoughts on my work.”
And what work is that? The thought came unbidden to her mind.
Because she was wondering if she was a good kisser at all. She’d been kissed only a few times before, and none of those kisses was as satisfactory as this one had been. But she knew he had likely kissed many more people than she, and she wondered how she ranked among those.
It seemed as if he’d liked it, judging by the hardness she’d felt against herself, but that could be just because he hadn’t been with a lady for a day or two. Since she had no idea how often he was with ladies in the first place.
That would be an awkward question to ask. Not to mention entirely and thoroughly inappropriate. What is your regular rotation of females? One a week? Two a week? More?
If it were more, she’d be surprised he wasn’t constantly yawning. Servicing ladies had to be a fatiguing exercise. At least, she would imagine it would be if it were him.
She felt herself growing warm and wanted to squirm at the image it conjured in her mind—him unclothed, panting from his exertions, a completely satisfied young woman underneath him. With the young woman looking suspiciously like her.
Octavia shrugged. “Then I can take them out, if that is fine with you, Mr. de Silva.”
“Call me Sebastian,” he said in a curt tone. Ivy and Octavia both looked at him in surprise.
“I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that Sebastian feels far more comfortable than Mr. de Silva.”
“Ah,” Octavia replied. “Sebastian, might I take your dogs out for a walk?”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Octavia.”
Octavia grinned. “Just Octavia, since you’re just Sebastian.”
“Just Sebastian,” he murmured. As though he was reminding himself.
“Come on, then,” Octavia said, tugging on the dogs’ leashes. She shot one last knowing look at Ivy, and then shut the door.
“Byron and Keats?” Ivy asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from what just happened, the grading of kisses, and her overly enthusiastic imagination.
That shiver was just because it was cold.
Even though it was not at all.
“I went through a Romantic period,” he replied. His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth. “And now I’m not certain I ever left.”
“No!” she snapped, startling them both. “We can’t do any of this,” she said in a softer tone, gesturing to the space between them. “Even though I’m the one who started it,” she added.
He looked as though he was about to speak, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded.
“You understand?” she pressed.
Another nod. He looked almost angry.
“Let’s return to the work at hand,” she said, waving her hand toward the papers on her desk. The papers that had gotten crushed when he’d hoisted her atop them.
“Of course, Miss Ivy.”
She was about to tell him he could call her just Ivy, as Octavia had, but that would further blur the lines between them—he was living with her, he was working for her, and now he had kissed her. Or she had kissed him. The
y shouldn’t be on such familiar terms with one another. It would just encourage . . . familiarity.
“Excellent.” She took her seat again, gesturing to the chair opposite. “If you please?” she said. She nearly added his given name, but that seemed thoughtless considering what she had just said.
She started to read his work again, only to find her mind was entirely clouded. That kiss. That moment. That feeling.
Yes, she’d been kissed before. Yes, even by the occasional handsome man; she’d met a few in her tenure as Miss Ivy, proprietor of the newly fashionable Miss Ivy’s.
But he was so much more than any of them, and she needed to push that all away so she could focus on what was important: the club, and making money, enough money to leave the club behind and go live somewhere else.
Although that was sounding less and less appealing by the day. By the ex-duke, if she were being honest.
Damn it.
Damn it. Was he less charming now that he was no longer a duke?
No, because she hadn’t known him until he wasn’t a duke.
But he’d never had a woman so thoroughly deny him before. Of course he had to respect that. It was the right thing to do, regardless of their respective positions. But that he was her employee made it even more important.
Not that he needed this job, precisely. Not for survival, that is.
“What are you paying me, anyway?” he blurted.
Better to ask questions she could answer than ones she could not: Why don’t you want to kiss me again? Have I lost my charm? and most important, Why don’t we work on having fun together?
She looked up with a surprised expression.
“Pardon?”
“My salary. I don’t believe we discussed it.” He spoke in an authoritative tone of voice, even though he honestly had no idea how negotiations between employer and employee were supposed to be handled.
Her cheeks began to color, and she looked embarrassed. “Of course, Mr. de Silva—”
“Sebastian.”
“I apologize for not discussing this when I hired you. How much do you require?”
Ah, here is where it got tricky. Because until a few days ago, he hadn’t had to think about money in terms of how much he needed to live on. He just gestured, and things would get paid, and he would always have enough for his needs.
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